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THE AMERICAN 



IN 



PARIS. 



BY 



JOHN ~S ANDERSON 

IN TWO VOLUMES. 
VOL. I. 

THIRD EDITION. 



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,'-' 



PHILADELPHIA: 

PUBLISHED BY CAREY & HART. 

1847. 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1839, by E. L. Caret & A. 
Hart, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Eastern District of 
Pennsylvania. 






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PHILADELPHIA: 
T. K. AND P. Q. COLLINS, PRINTERS. 



PUBLISHERS' NOTICE. 



A new Edition of " The American in Paris," by the 
late John Sanderson, having been repeatedly called for, 
the publishers have the pleasure to state that they have 
arranged with his administrator for the publication of 
this Edition. 



PREFACE. 



London, August 10th, 1836. 
***** you have no sooner a guinea in 
London than you have none. In addition to the ways 
and means I pointed out in my last, gather together the 
letters I wrote you from Paris, and offer them to the 
booksellers. There are enough, if you have preserved 
them, for a volume. Those from London reserve until 
time has made the necessary additions for volume the 
second. I had partly the intention, in writing these let- 
ters, to dress them up one day into some kind of shape 
for the Public. I am not certain they are fit to be seen 
in their present dishabille — but leave that to the pur- 
chaser. A pretty woman slip-shod is a pretty woman still, 
and she is not so much improved as you think by her 
court dress. Tell the Public I do not mean them for 
great things: I am no critic, no politician, no political 
economist; but only, as Shakspeare would say, "a snap- 
per up of inconsiderate trifles." — Under this title I have 
the honor to be, with the most perfect consideration, the 
Public's very obedient, humble servant. 



CONTENTS. 



LETTER I. 



Havre — Description of the town— The map seller — Manners of the 
people — Law of inheritance — State of agriculture — Town and 
country poverty— Foreign trade — The custom house, a school for 
perjury — System of passports — The French diligence — Rouen — 
The cathedral— Joan of Arc 13—30 



LETTER II. 

Paris— Street cries — St. Roch — The Boulevards — Parisian lodgings 
—Manner of living — The grand opera — Taglioni — The public gar- 
dens — The Guinguettes — Dancing, the characteristic amusement of 
the French — Sunday dances — Dancing defended, from classical 
authority 30—49 



LETTER III. 

The Boulevards — Boulevard Madelaine — Boulevard des Capucines — 
Boulevard Italien — Monsieur Careme— Splendid cafes — The baths 
— Boulevard Montmartre — The shoe-blaek — The chiffonnier — The 
gratteur — The commissionnaire— Boulevard du Temple — Scene at 
the Ambigft Comique— Sir Sydney Smith — Monsieur de Paris — 



X CONTENTS. 

The Cafe Turc— The fountains— Recollections of the Bastille— The 
Halle aux Bles— The Bicetre— Boulevard du Mont Parnasse 

50—76 

LETTER IV. 

The Palais Royal— French courtesy — Rue Vivienne— Pleasures of 
walking in the streets — Cafes in the Palais Royal — Mille Colonnes 
— Very's — French dinners — Past history of the Palais Royal — 
Galerie d'Orleans — Gambling — The unhappy Colton— Hells of the 
Palais Royal — Prince Puckler Muskau — Lord Brougham — The 
king and queen - - - - - -.- 76—98 

LETTER V. 

The Tuileries — The gardens— The statues — The Cabinets de lecture 
— The king's band — Regulations of the gardens — Yankee modesty 
— the English parks — Proper estimate of riches — Policy of culti- 
vating a taste for innocent pleasures — Advantages of gardens — 
Should be made ornamental -Cause of the French Revolution — 
Mr. Burke's notion of the English parks — Climate of France 

98—110 



LETTER VI. 

The Three Glorious Days — The plump little widow — Marriage of 
fifteen young girls — Shrines of the martyrs — Louis Philippe — 
Dukes of Orleans and Nemours — The National Guards — Fieschi — 
The Infernal Machine — Marshal Mortier and twelve persons killed 
—Dismissal of the troops — The queen and her daughters — Dis- 
turbed state of France — The Chamber of Deputies — Elements of 
support to the present dynasty — Private character of the king — 
The daily journals — The Chamber of Peers — Bonaparte 

110—125 



CONTENTS. XI 



LETTER VII. 

The Garden of Plants — The omnibus — The Museum of Natural His- 
tory — American birds — The naturalist — Study of entomology— The 
Botanic Garden — Cabinet of Comparative Anatomy — The mena- 
gerie — The giraffe — Notions of America — The cedar of Lebanon- 
Effects of French cookery — French gastronomy — Goose liver pie — 
Mode of procuring the repletion of the liver - - 125 — =139 



LETTER VIII. 

Burial of the victims — St. Cloud — The chateau — The cicerone — The 
Chevalier-d'Industrie— Grave of Mrs. Jordan — The Bois de Bou- 
logne — Amusements on fete days— Place Louis XV. — The king at 
the Tuileries — The American address — His majesty's reply — The 
Princess Amelia — The queen and her daughters — The Dukes of 
Orleans and Nemours — Madame Adelaide — Splendor of ancient 
courts — Manner of governing the French — William the Fourth — 
Exhibition of the students at the University - - 139 — 154 

LETTER IX. 

Tour of Paris— The Seine — The Garden of Plants — The animals- 
Island of St. Louis — The Halle aux Vins — The police — Palais de 
Justice— The Morgue — Number of suicides — M. Perrin— The Hotel 
de Ville — Place de Greve — The Pont Neuf— Quai des Augustins— ■ 
The Institute — Isabeau de Baviere — The Bains Vigiers — The Pont 
des Arts — The washerwomen's fete — Swimming-schools for both 
sexes — The Chamber of Deputies — Place de la Revolution — Obe- 
lisk of Luxor — Hospital of the Invalids — Ecole Militaire — The 
Champ de Mars— Talleyrand - 155—182 



Xll CONTENTS. 



LETTER X. 

Faubourg St. Germain— Quartier Latin — The book-stalls — Phrenolo- 
gists — Dupuytren's room — Medical students— Lodgings— Bill at the 
Sorbonne — French cookery — A gentleman's boarding-house — The 
locomotive cook — Fruit — The pension — The landlady — Pleasure 
in being duped — Smile of a French landlady — The boarding-house 
— Amiable ladies — The Luxembourg gardens — The grisettes — 
Their naivete and simplicity — Americans sent to Paris — Parisian 
morals — Advantages in visiting old countries — American society 
in Paris 182—206 



LETTER XI. 

The Observatory — The astronomers — Val de Grace — Anne of Austria 
— Hospice des Enfans Trouves — Rows of cradles — Sisters of Cha- 
rity— Vincent de Paul— Maisons d'Accouchement— Place St. Jacques 
— The Catacombs — Skull of Ninon de l'Enclos — the poet Gilbert — 
Julian's Bath — Hotel de Cluny — Ancient furniture — Francis the 
First's bed— Charlotte Corday— Danton — Marat — Robespierre — 
Rue des Postes — Convents of former times — Faubourg St. Marceau 

207—219 



THE AMERICAN IN PARIS. 



LETTER I. 

Havre— Description of the town— The map seller — Manners of the 
people — Law of inheritance — State of agriculture — Town and 
country poverty — Foreign trade — The custom house, a school 
for perjury — System of passports — The French diligence — Rouen 
— The cathedral — Joan of Arc. 

Havre, June 29th, 1835. 

We arrived here late on Saturday, so that Sunday and 
a festival on Monday compel us to await the custom 
house till Tuesday evening. 

Do not detain your husband ; I expect him for the 
latest in October. You don't know how much absence 
from home and loneliness in a foreign country try the 
consistency of one's courage. — And tell him to listen to 
my advice in preparing his voyage. His first step is to 
obtain, by a few lines to the secretary of war, a passport 
describing his features, dimensions, titles, (nose straight, 
eyes hazel, &c.,) and if he can add " Major," or " Colo- 
nel," or some cheap American dignity, he will have a 
great many bows in this country he otherwise cannot 
aspire to. I was foolish enough to come over nothing 
but simple " John." If he brings the wife along, tell 
him to include her in the same document — (a little black 

VOL. I.— 2 



14 CUSTOM HOUSE. 

girl, four feet and something, having a sharp tongue, 
pretty enough mouth and teeth, and eyes too good for 
her nose.) I don't ask pardon ; a nose is only an im- 
portant feature on a passport ; faces can be pretty in 
spite of their noses. You don't kiss the book, so he may 
put down any age your ladyship pleases. 

It is important to choose a good ship. The " Sylvie 
de Grace " left eight days after and arrived two days 
before us. The berth having least motion is nearest the 
middle of the vessel. Your fare to Havre is one hundred 
and forty dollars, with a guinea for services. 

If any lady of your village has a disobedient husband, 
or a son who has beaten his mother, bid her send him 
to sea. — But for particulars on this head I refer you to 
my letter of yesterday, in which I have given you all 
that Sebastian Cabot and other eminent navigators had 
left out. " Travelers by sea" are certainly fit subjects 
for church prayers. I love the clergyman who put us in 
with the ladies in the litany. Your consolation is that 
the evil endures but thirty days, often less, and it puri- 
fies the blood for the better enjoyments of land. Chil- 
dren, especially sucking babies, are rarely sick, and wo- 
men bear the sea better than men. Some of your sex 
having been born from this element accounts for the 
partiality. 

Let us then skip, over the sea. On touching land your 
passport is sent on immediately to Paris to tell them you 
have come, and is restored to you there in exchange for 
a ticket you must ask at the police office at Havre. In 
the mean time your two shirts and a half are paraded 
under military escort to the custom house, and, unless 
some saint is in the way, are forthwith examined If 
you arrive the day before the Millenium you have to 
stay for your portmanteau until it is over. This exami- 



HAVJIE. 15 

nation might be made on board, but multiplying duties 
multiplies perquisites ; portage, entrance at the customs, 
and portage again to your lodgings, enable them to levy 
a contribution of five or six francs on each of your pack- 
ages. All effects, except your wardrobe, are subject to 
duties and delays, and sealed letters to a fine. The pas- 
sengers, too, are sometimes a little examined ; so beware 
of suspicious appearances. 

Jane 30th. 

I have half a mind to describe this town to you. It 
has twenty thousand inhabitants ; is at the mouth of the 
Seine, and twenty-four hours from Paris. The houses 
are high, mostly of black slate, and patched often till 
nothing is seen but the patches, and mushrooms and 
other vegetables grow through the cracks. Villages in 
America have an air of youth and freshness harmonizing 
with their dimensions. Small things should never look 
old. This town presents you with the ungracious image 
of a wrinkled and gray-headed baby. The streets, ex- 
cept one, have no sidewalks ; they are paved with rough 
stone, and are without gutters and common sewers ; the 
march of intellect not having arrived at these luxuries. 
The exception is the " Rue de Paris ;" it has " trottoirs," 
a theatre, a public square, a market house, a library with 
six thousand volumes, and a church very richly fur- 
nished : the organ presented by Cardinal Richelieu. I 
have been to this church this morning to pay the Virgin 
Mary the pound of candles I owed for my preservation 
at sea. The prettiest improvement I have seen (and it 
is no miracle for a town of so much commercial im- 
portance) is a dock, cut in from the bay along the chan- 
nel of an old creek, which contains three or four hundred 
ships, a goodly number of which wear the American 



16 THE SUBUKBS. 

flag ; it runs through the thick of the town and brings 
the vessels into a pleasant sociability with the houses. 
When the tide is high these vessels ride in their own 
element ; when low, you see a whole fleet, wallowing in 
the mud ; and passengers, to get to sea, have to wait the 
complaisance both of wind and tide, often a whole week. 
A little to the north you will see a compensation for 
all this ugliness, in a hill, running boldly up to the water's 
edge, whose south side, several hundred feet high, is 
smothered with houses. They seem to be scrambling 
up the acclivity to look at the town ; and the entire sum- 
mit is covered with beautiful villas, and gardens rich 
with trees and shrubbery, and hedges, which at this sea- 
son are a most luxurious ornament. Many American 
families, having grown rich here by commerce, are 
perched magnificently upon this hill. The view from 
the top is charming ! The old town, in its motley livery 
of houses, ships, and fortifications, spreads itself out at 
your feet ; on the west there is an open view of the chan- 
nel, and all the pretty images of a commercial port, such 
as vessels in the near and distant prospect, coming into 
harbor and going out upon their voyages ; and on the 
south, and beyond the bay into which the Seine flows, 
is a fine romantic country, of field and woodland, which 
runs gradually up, undulating like the sea, till it meets 
the blue sky. It is charming, too, in the night ; for as soon 
as Mercury has hung out his lamps above, these Hav- 
rians light up theirs in the town, and set up a little op- 
position to the heavens ; and there you are between two 
firmaments ; which of a fine evening is a fantastic and 
gorgeous spectacle. This is the Havre. It is the first 
thing I ever described, and I am out of breath. 

And now the customs and manners. I have had deal- 
ings with hackney coachmen, porters, peddlers and pick- 



MAP SELLERS. 17 

pockets, and have found them eminently qualified in 
their several departments. In strolling last evening 
through the streets— going only to frank a letter at the 
post-office, I remarked a person crying maps by a wall 
side. He waiked up and down with arms folded, and 
had a grave and respectable face : " %/i trente sous 
settlement! — C'est incroyable ! — «# trente sous !" I 
wished to look after a place in Normandy, called Helle- 
vilie ; the very place where Guiscard, and that other 
choicest of all ladies' heroes, Tancred, were born.— Only 
think of Tancred being born in the department of Cou- 
tance, and being nothing but a Frenchman ; and only 
think, too, of the possibility of taking a piece of gold out 
of a man's waistcoat pocket at mid-day, the owner being 
wide awake, and in full enjoyment of his senses. I had 
no sooner made my wants known to this polite auctioneer 
than, with a civilite toute Frangaise, he placed the map 
before my eyes— that is, between the eyes and the waist- 
coat pocket, and himself just behind the left shoulder, 
assisting me in the search — " Hell — Hell — Hell — Helle- 
ville /" He then resumed his walk and looked out for 
new customers; and 1 with a return of his bow and 
smile, and a grateful sense of his politeness, took leave, 
and pursued my way contentedly, " not missing what 
was stolen," to the post-office. Here 1 took out my let- 
ter, had it stamped, and put my hand complacently in my 
pocket — I went home very much disgusted with the 
French nation. To be robbed at the Havre brings no 
excuse for one's wit or understanding ; ill Paris it is 
what one expects from the civilization of the capital. 

The porters, coachmen, draymen, boatmen, and such 
like, about the Havre, are wrangling and noisy to excess. 
They burst into an idle fury every few minutes ; remind- 
ing one of our militia musketry ; there is a preliminary, 

2* 



18 MANNERS AND CUSTOMS. 

and then a general explosion, and then a few scattering 
cartridges, and all ends in smoke. They seldom resort 
to duelling, and boxing is considered vulgar ; and as for 
oaths, they make no sort of figure in French. In the 
article of swearing we are ahead of all other nations. 
In their common intercourse, however, these people are 
much more respectful than we are to their betters and 
to one another. Mr. Boots, for no other reason than 
bringing your shoes in well polished, insists on your 
" pardon for having deranged you," and the beggar takes 
leave of his fellow beggar witrl%is " respects to madam. 5 ' 
But these respects I have heard do not bear the test of 
any twopenny interest. There is no civility that stands 
against sixpence. This common world is more social, 
and in appearance more joyous than with us. It hud- 
dles together in public places, with wonderful conversa- 
tion and merriment till a late hour of the night. What 
a quantity of green old age ! grandmothers of sixty with 
their hair en papillotte, are playing hide and go-seek 
with twenty-five. After all, what signifies the degree of 
poverty or age, if one is happy ? Another thing remark- 
able, is the respect paid to property. Benches on the 
public squares are handed down to posterity with no 
other marks than the natural wear and tear of sitting on 
them ; vegetables grow by the wayside untrodden, and 
gardens and fields offer their fruit without hedge or fence, 
or any visible protection. I have talked these matters 
with a Frenchman, who says, that it is the last genera- 
tion only that lives at this rate, and that the present one 
dies off at a very reasonable age. The truth I believe 
is that we, in our country, keep old persons inside the 
house ; we wrap them up and lay them on the shelf, 
and ennui and neglect, no doubt, abridge a little their 
duration. As for the security of property he ascribes it 



MARKET PEOPLE. 19 

entirely to a certain shepherdly swain, very common 
here, who wears red breeches, and is coiffed in a cocked 
hat, with one of the cocks exactly over his nose, called 
a Garde Champetre, w T ho watches day and night over 
the safety of the fields. A curiosity of the place is the 
peasant women whom yon will see mixed fantastically 
with the citizens in the market, and flocking in and out 
in great numbers at the town gate. Labor and the sun 
have worn all the feminine charms out of their faces, and 
they have mounted up over these ugly faces starched 
and white caps two stories high, in which they encoun- 
ter all sorts of weather; they are seated on little asses, 
a large basket at each side, in which they carry vege- 
tables to market, and carry back manure for the crops 
of the next year. 

The antiquities. I visited this morning a trumpery 
old palace of Charles V. ; also a round tower built, they 
say, by that great tower builder, Julius Cassar; and 
returning through a solitary alley I stumbled accidentally 
upon a monument of more precious memory, the birth- 
place of the author of Paul and Virginia. It is a scrubby 
old hut with a bit of marble in front containing his name 
and day of nativity. Genius seems to have but mean 
notions of the dignity of birth ; Pindar was born among 
the vapors of Bceotia, and St. Pierre in this filthy alley 
of the Havre. 

The politics. The children here are apportioned 
equally and cannot be disinherited. All the father can 
dispose of by will is a half, third, or fourth of the estate, 
according as he has one, two, or more heirs. This kind 
of succession cuts up the land into small patches, and 
thus brings poverty on both town and country; all the 
families being without capital to improve their agricul- 
tural resources. They have but little to spare to the 



20 CAUSES OF POVERTY. 

town, and can, therefore, buy but little of its stores and 
manufactures; and from inability to supply the raw 
materials and provisions cheap, buy this little at an 
enhanced price. In this way the two parties mutually 
beggar each other. Besides, under this system of minute 
divisions, the farming population increases enormously, 
poverty increasing in the same ratio. Two-thirds of 
the French are already farmers ; and in England, where 
farming is in so much greater perfection, the ratio is 
one-third. This law, too, in rendering the children 
independent of the father, destroys his authority and 
check upon their conduct ; it weakens the motives to 
exertion, which arise from fear of want or prospects of 
future good, and is consequently unfavorable to intellect 
and morals. The English system makes one son only 
a fool, the French besots the whole family. A redun- 
dant population is the great curse of all these old coun- 
tries, and under this system of subdivision a nation, 
unless the blessings of war or the plague intervene, 
becomes as multitudinous as the Chinese, eating dogs 
and cats, and potatoes, and hunting with cows and pigs; 
a plough as in Ireland, becoming a joint stock possession, 
and a horse belonging to a whole neighborhood. The 
French, in spite of the Moscows and Waterloos, have 
added between five and six millions to their population 
of 1789. Agriculture, to be sure, was improved by the 
Revolution — by the divisions amongst the peasantry of 
the national domains, and confiscated property of the 
nobles—by the abolition of tithes and game laws, and 
by bringing the waste land into cultivation; but this 
condition is or must soon be on the reverse. In America 
the abundance of idle and cheap land prevents this 
calamity for the present. I have traveled a few miles 
in the country, and have squeezed what sense I could 



AGRICULTURE. 21 

out of the peasants. I find that in all branches of hus- 
bandry, a laborer here performs a fourth less work 
daily than in America ; and in ploughing and reaping, 
nearly a third. The French implements, too, are clumsy 
and bungling; oxen are yoked by the horns; harrows 
have wooden teeth, and the plough, mostly of wood, 
scratches up the earth instead of turning a furrow. 

Another great evil in French politics is the centraliza- 
tion of everything in the metropolis. In our country 
each borough or township is an independent community, 
and manages its concerns with scarce a sense of any 
foreign superintendence. An individual recommends 
himself to favor first in his village, then in his county, 
next in his state, and finally in the United States; and 
none glimmer in the last sphere who have not shone in 
the first. Here this condition is reversed — there is a 
converging of all the rays into one general focus. Paris 
is the centre, and there is none but delegated authority 
anywhere else. So the French provinces are out at the 
heels and elbows, and Paris wears its elegant and 
fashionable wardrobe. Your Pottsville has a hundred 
miles of railroad, whilst the Havre transports the whole 
trade of the capital by a two wheeled operation she 
calls the " roiilage," and her boats upon the channel 
carrying on the intercourse between the two greatest 
cities of the world, are about equal to yours, in which 
you cross over into Jersey to eat creams with mother 
Heyle. 

A third reason of village and country poverty is the 
neglect of machinery by which production may be 
increased with a diminution of labor. Not a railroad 
has yet shown its nose in this place, though it is the 
outlet to the foreign trade of one-third of the French 
territory, including the capital with its almost a million 



22 NEGLECT OF MACHINERY. 

of inhabitants. They are cleaning their great dock to- 
day with a hundred or two of men armed with spades, 
whilst a machine is doing the same work upon the 
Delaware with three or four negroes. The economists 
of the French school reason thus: if this clumsy appa- 
ratus is superseded, our workmen will be out of employ; 
besides, it is known that the increase of consumers 
always keeps pace with the increase of production, and 
you end where you began. — But you increase also your 
strength. Yes, and the difficulties of government. 
You give life to a greater number of human beings, and 
little obligations have they for the gift if they are to run 
the risk of being corrupted in this world and punished 
in the next; and the means of corruption are greater in 
a crowded than a sparse population; greater amongst an 
idle and luxurious than a simple and laborious people. 
The American public was more happy and virtuous 
with its three millions than with its ten millions and its 
railroads. If this is all true, then the country which has 
least fertility of soil and least skill in the arts of agricul- 
ture is the most favored by Providence ; and the best 
system of economy is that which teaches us to procure 
the least possible produce with the greatest possible 
labor. The best employment, too, for the laborers, 
would be to plant cucumbers in summer, and extract 
the sunbeams out of them to keep themselves warm in 
winter. I like the system which teaches us to increase 
the sum of human comforts. I think it is better to live 
in an improved country with clean streets and neat 
dwellings, than to have the same means of living with 
a destitution of such conveniences. I like even to starve 
with decent accommodations. 

A fourth great cause of poverty is the restriction 
which these nations have imposed upon their mutual 



CAUSES OF POVERTY. 23 

intercourse, and the produce of each other's industry. 
There is a total disagreement between natural reason 
and the custom of all countries on this subject. Nature, 
by giving us a diversity of soils, climates and products, 
has pointed out the right objects of industry, and laid all 
nations under obligations of dependence and intimacy 
upon each other, and there is a general struggle amongst 
all to counteract this benevolent design. France, for 
example, has a natural fitness for wines, and the land 
producing this wine is unsuited to any other culture, yet 
she has so managed as to keep her wine trade stationary 
for the last fifty years. England buys her wine, of 
inferior quality, from Portugal and Spain, and carries on 
a greater trade with the Chinese, her antipodes, than with 
France, her next door neighbor. All proclaim the 
benefits of foreign trade, and all legislate directly, to get 
rid of their foreign customers. In what more direct 
way could France prevent the sale of her wines to 
Russia, Sweden and England, than by refusing their 
coal, iron, woolen manufactures, and other products for 
which they have a natural advantage, in return ? But 
the great struggle of all is to become independent ; and 
yet the very word implies the extinction of all foreign 
commerce. The greatest of all national blessings is 
assuredly that very dependence we are so eager to 
avoid. We cannot become dependent upon a foreign 
nation without laying it, at the same time, under a 
similar dependence. — But in case of a war ? This is 
the very way to make a war impossible. Men do 
not war against their own interests. We are dependent 
upon Lyons for her silks, and her petitions are now 
pouring in daily against the impending war with America; 
and many think they will go nigh to prevent it. Would 
not this war be more remote if the dependence were 



24 THE CUSTOM HOUSE. 

increased ? If I wished to prevent all future wars with 
France and England, I would begin by building a rail- 
road from Paris to London, and removing their com- 
mercial restrictions. Each country would then improve 
to the uttermost that industry to which it is most fitted. 
Intimacies, too, would be improved, prejudices effaced, 
and they would become, at length, so dependent upon 
each other, that even should a mad or silly government 
involve them in a war, their mutual interests would 
force them to discontinue it. 

Of all methods of gathering taxes that of the custom 
house seems to me the worst. What an expensive ap- 
paratus of buildings ; what a fleet of vessels ; what an 
army of spies ! what courts of admiralty ; and what an 
array of new crimes upon the statute book ! A custom 
house is a school for perjury and other vices, and where 
the first lessons are made easy for beginners. There is 
nothing one robs with so little compunction as one's 
country. It is at worst only robbing thirty millions of 
people. A sin loses its criminality by diffusion, and may 
be so expanded as to be no sin at all. All the functions 
of a custom house are in their nature odious and vexa- 
tious. The first injunction is to refuse the traveler, 
wearied of the sea, the common rites of hospitality on 
setting his foot upon the land ; to ransack even honest 
women by impudent police officers, and subject Honor- 
able men to a scrutiny practised elsewhere only upon 
thieves. I piqued a Frenchman on board our ship on 
the venality, which I had heard of, of the French ports. 
He replied that he had been in the American trade for 
ten years, and accompanied each of his cargoes to our 
ports for the express purpose of not paying the duties. 
Why nothing is more easy. "There is an officer who 
examines; we know each other; he knocks off the top 



PASSPORTS. 25 

of the boxes, rummages the calico with great fuss and 
ceremony, and the silks and jewelry sleep quiet at the 
bottom. — Whoever, he says, pays more than ten per 
cent, of his duties in any country, is unacquainted with 
his business." 

There is another item in European policy, the require- 
ment of passports — the cost, the delays and vexatious 
ceremony attending it— that has incurred abundant re- 
prehension, especially from American travelers; and 
there certainly is no other use in such a regulation than 
that a set of the most despicable creatures that creep 
upon the earth may get a living by it. But when one 
is used for a long time to see things done in a certain 
way, one does not conceive the possibility of their being 
done in any other way. When I informed an intelligent 
Frenchman of forty years, that even a stranger did not 
carry a passport about with him in America/ and that 
we dispensed with all this array of police officers and 
spies, and other such impediments to traveling and the 
intercourse of nations, he inferred that there could be no 
personal security. That alone, he said, would determine 
him from residing in the United States. When I cited 
against him the example of England, he remained incre- 
dulous : and required the confirmation of a better au- 
thority. 

Don't you imagine that I am going to treat you here- 
after to politics. Events have not yet thickened upon 
my observation, and I am obliged to make use of all my 
resources. If I could afford to send you blank paper 
all the way across the Atlantic, I would have omitted 
these last pages : hand them over to your husband. 

The living here is about equal in the quality of food 
and price to your best houses of Philadelphia. The 
hotels are shabby in comparison with ours ; the one I 
vol. i.— 3 



26 THE FRENCH DILIGENCE. 

lodge in has not been washed since the year of the world 
1656; but the cookery and service are altogether in 
favor of the French. A breakfast is two francs, a dinner 
three, and a chamber two. You may count your daily 
expenses at a dollar and a half in the best houses. The 
Havre is our first acquaintance coming into the conti- 
nent, and its history cannot be without some interest, 
especially to ladies who are just sighing to go to Paris. 

Rouen, July 3d, 1835. 

What a curiosity of ugliness is a French diligence. It 
exceeds in this quality even our American stages. But 
the sacrifice of beauty is to convenience : it carries three 
tons of passengers and baggage, with a speed of seven 
miles an hour. The coupe", in front, has three seats, the 
int&rieur six, and the rolonde as many in the rear ; the 
price decreasing in the same direction from the whole to 
about the half of our American prices. There are, also, 
three seats aloft. These divisions are invisible to each 
other, and represent the world outside, the rich, the mid- 
dling, and the poor. If you feel very aristocratic, you 
take the whole coupe to yourself, or yourself and lady, 
and you can be as private as you please. Each seat is 
numbered, and the traveler has his number on the way 
bill and in his pocket. A conducteur superintends bag- 
gage, &c, and is paid extra. The team has three horses 
abreast in front and two in their rear, and upon one of 
the latter is mounted a postillion. This personage de- 
serves a particular notice. He is immersed to his mid- 
dle in a huge pair of boots, making each leg the diameter 
of his body; and his body, too, is squeezed into a narrow 
coat, which, being buttoned to the chin, props his woeful 
countenance towards the firmament, so that he corre- 
sponds exactly with Ovid's description of a man, or 



ROAD TO ROUEN. 27 

rather he looks like the letter Y upside down. Cracking 
a whip he does not regard as an acquirement but a 
virtue. He can crack several tunes ; and in a calm 
night serenades a whole village. 

The road to Rouen, in the diligence, has nothing in it 
agreeable. The land has the ordinary crops, but it is a 
wide waste of cultivation, without hedges, or barns, or 
cottages. The only relief is now and then a comfortless 
village, or a solitary and neglected chateau. You swal- 
low a mouthful of dusi at each breath, and you are dis- 
gusted at all the stopping places by the wailing voices of 
beggars, old men and women recommending themselves 
by decrepitude, and children by rags and nakedness. 
The children often run down the diligence a quarter of 
a mile in quest of the charitable sou. I soon got out of 
change, and then reasoned myself into a fit of unchari- 
tableness. They may be unworthy, and I shall encou- 
rage vice; besides, charity only increases the breed. 
What I give to these vagabonds I take from somebody 
else ; I should otherwise lay it out in some article of 
trade, and, if all do so, we shall only make a new set of 
beggars by relieving the old — reduce the industrious to 
mendicity by encouraging the idlers. Moreover I can't 
help all, and 1 won't help any, or, if I do help any, I 
will give to my own countrymen, and not to these raga- 
muffin Frenchmen. In this way you get along without 
much affecting the tranquillity of your conscience. My 
advice is that you come by the Seine and the steamboat. 
It is a passage of only eight hours, and every one extols 
its beautiful and romantic scenery. 

Rouen is the birth-place of Racine, and Fontenelle, 
and of Boildieu. It deserves a passing notice on their 
account, as also on its own. The residence of those 
truculent old Norman dukes, who made the world shake 



28 ROUEN. 

with fear, and gave sovereigns to some of the best na- 
tions of Europe, cannot be an indifferent spot upon the 
globe. Indeed, we may trace to it many of our own 
institutions, as well as a good part of our language. Our 
terms of law, the very cries of our courts in Schuylkill 
county, are imported from this Old Normandy, of which 
Rouen is the capital. It is a fantastic old town, with 
earthenware tiles, and enclosed between two mountains, 
having a mixture of art and nature, which bring each 
other out finely into relief. One is delighted to see town 
in the country, and country in the town. Here is a 
large factory or hotel, and there a set of gray and tawny- 
looking hovels, like a village of the Potawattomies. 
The peasants are seen amongst the tops and chimneys 
of the houses, cultivating their fields on the sides and 
upon the summits of the hills, which are arrayed in tufts 
of woodland, hedges and pasturage ; and all the ave- 
nues leading to the town are beautifully over-shaded 
with chestnuts and elms. The Seine, too, has its fairy 
islands and weeping willows on its banks, and winds 
along through the middle of the town ; and now and 
then a steamboat comes up the valleys with a puffing 
and fuss that would have made stare even the iron 
features of old Rollo. One can see such a town but 
once, and no one can see it so well as he who has been 
used to the fresh and glaring villages of our country. 
Rouen has ninety thousand inhabitants, a library of four 
thousand volumes, a gallery of paintings, and manufac- 
tures of all sorts of calico and other cotton stuffs, also 
of linen, bombasins and velvet shawls. More than half 
the population is engaged directly in these manufactures. 
My advice is that you sleep here one night instead of in 
the diligence in running post to Paris, In your evening's 



THE CATHEDRAL. 29 

walk I invite you to step out and see Napoleon's bridge, 
which has in the centre of it a fine statue of Corneille. 

I went to see that famous piece of venerable antiquity, 
the Cathedral. You have its picture in all the "Penny 
Magazines." Our guide, who knows it by heart, told 
us his tale as follows : " Gentlemen, this is the tomb of 
Rollo, first duke of Normandy ; no horse could carry 
him; had to walk on foot; died 917.— Gentlemen, this 
is William Longsword, his son and successor ; was on 
the point of taking the frock to be a monk, but was 
basely assassinated by Araund, Count of Flanders." 
(And the devil a monk was he.) — "Gentlemen, this is 
Pierre de Breze, Grand Seneschal of Anjou and Nor- 
mandy; fell in the battle of Montlherry, 1467; and 
this is John, Duke of Bedford, Viceroy of Normandy, 
who died in 1438. In this tomb, gentlemen, (come a 
little nearer,) in this tomb is deposited the heart of Rich- 
ard Cosur de Lion ! (a tremor ran through our bones.) 
His heart is in this tomb ; his brains are in Poictiers, and 
the other parts of him in Kent, in Great Britain. The 
man who took out his brains died of it. This is the last 
man Richard killed, and he had killed more than one." 
Here our cicerone ran down, and his features, just now 
so animated, were suddenly 'decomposed and collapsed, 
the natural effect of inspiration. We looked then at the 
great bell, and the organs, and the statues of saints, 
most of them mutilated in the Revolution. One, with- 
out a nose, they told us was St. Dunstan ; the devil and 
the Jacobins having retaliated. There is a headless 
trunk, too, they might very well pass for St. Denis. One 
of the remarkable features of this church is the paint- 
ing on glass, representing scriptural scenes, of which 
the colors seem to have grown more vivid by time, 
though time has destroyed the secret of their compo- 

3* 



30 JOAN OF ARC— PARIS. 

sition. The architecture is Gothic, and the grandest 
specimen of this order in France. Its immense fluted 
columns, near a hundred feet high, and ten or twelve 
in diameter ; its images of Christ and the Virgin, and 
the pictures of the Apostles and Saints, are awful and 
beautiful. The lightning has thought it worthy of a 
visit, and has overturned one of its huge towers. 

Poor Joan of Arc ! Here is her monument in the 
midst of the market square, where she was burnt. — It is 
a pedestal of twenty feet surmounted by her statue. 
Alongside of this trophy of French and English barba- 
rism, instead of blushing for shame, they show you for 
sixpence the room in which she was imprisoned. It is 
damp, and has only glimmerings of light, and is altogether 
a horrid remnant of antiquity. Farewell to Rouen. 



LETTER II. 

Paris— Street cries— St. Roch— The Boulevards— Parisian lodgings 
—Manner of living— The grand opera— Taglioni— The public gar- 
dens — The Guinguettes— Dancing, the characteristic amusement of 
the French— Sunday dances— Dancing defended, from classical 
authority. 

Paris, July 4th 1835. 

When one has traveled all night in a French diligence 
in the dog-days, and is set down next morning in the 
" Place Notre Dame des Victories," three thousand miles 
from one's home — oh dear ! one has much less pleasure 
in the aspect of the great city than one expected. Voila 



MOTIVE FOR REFLECTION. 31 

Paris I said the "conducteur," announcing our approach; 
each one half opening his eyes, and then closing them 
suddenly. Four gentlemen and two ladies in a diligence 
bobbing their heads at each other about six of the morn- 
ing, the hour in which sleep creeps so agreeably upon 
one's senses, is an interesting spectacle. It was cruel to 
be interrupted in so tender an interview. Voila Paris ! 
was echoed a second time, so we awoke and looked out, 
except a lady who reposed gently upon my left shoulder ; 
who had seen Paris a thousand times, and never slept 
with four gentlemen perhaps in her life ; she lay still, I 
attentive not to awake her, until the ill-omened raven 
croaked a third time Paris ! A French gentleman now 
did the honors of the city to us strangers. " That, sir, 
is the ( Invalides; ? see how the morning rays glitter from 
its gilded dome. And this, which peers so proudly over 
the Barriere de PEtoile, is the grand Triumphal Arch of 
Napoleon ;" and he read over the trophies— Marengo ! 
Jena ! Austerlitz ! praised the sculpture and bas-reliefs, 
and burst out into a great many tropes about French 
victories. We now passed down through the Champs 
Elysees, rolled along the beautiful Rue Rivoli, and ar- 
rived fast asleep upon the " Place Notre Dame des Vic- 
tories." I advise you to sleep at St. Germains, where 
the steamboat will leave you, and come to Paris next 
morning with the imagination fresh for the enjoyment. 
To be wide awake improves wonderfully one's capacity 
for admiration. 

I stood and looked about, and I felt the spirit of man- 
hood die away within me ; and every other spirit, even 
curiosity. I would rather have seen one of your hay- 
cocks than the Queen. But, fortunately, here is no time 
for reflection. You are immediately surrounded by a 
score of individuals, who greet you with hats in their 



32 PARIS. 

hands and with great officiousness, offering you all at 
once their services. Some are exceeding anxious you 
should lodge in their hotels : La phis jolie location de 
tout Paris — des chambres de toute beauti ! and others 
are dying to carry your baggage ; others again are eager 
to sell you their wares, and thrust a bit of soap, or a cane, 
or a pair of spectacles in your face suddenly. I mistook 
this for an attempt at assassination. Next I had to bow to 
my toes for a lodging. With the address of three hotels 
a mile apart, I had to pick one out of the street. I ad- 
vise you not to run about town till your porter's charges 
are of greater amount than the value of your baggage, 
but to put yourself and your trunks in a hack, and you 
will have at least a ride for your money ; besides, the 
driver is limited in his charges, and the porter is a discre- 
tion, and discretion is one of the dearest of the French 
virtues. 

Who do you think I had for a fellow traveler ? Your 

old acquaintance , who has lost his wife and 

travels to dissipate his grief. He has not left off saying 
good things. He remarked that it was a bad day to go 
into Paris — the 4th of July ; there would be such a 
crowd. Recollecting with what jubilee we celebrate 
this day at New York, he imagined how much greater 
must be the confusion in Paris. He feared we should 
have our brains knocked out by the mob. You can't 
think what advantage it is, for one having little of this 
commodity of brains, to travel into foreign countries ; 
one grows into the reputation of a wit by not being un- 
derstood. I do not mean to be arrogant in saying I am 
better versed, at least in our foreign relations, than my 
companion, and yet I was noticed on the way only as 
being of his suite, which I ascribe entirely to my capa- 
city to express myself in a known tongue. As he spoke 



THE HOUSES. STREET CRIES. 33 

no French, I was mistaken for the interpreter to some 
foreign ambassador. 

Paris is a wilderness of tall, scraggy, and dingy houses, 
of irregular heights and sizes, starting out impudently 
into the street, or retiring modestly, and without sym- 
metry : a palace often the counterpart of a pig-sty ; and 
a cathedral next neighbor to a henroost. The streets 
run zig-zag, and abut against each other as if they did 
not know which way to run. They are paved with 
cubical stones of eight and ten inches, convex on the 
upper surface like the shell of a terrapin ; few have room 
for sidewalks, and where not bounded by stores, they are 
dark as they were under King Pepin. Some of them 
seem to be water tight. St. Anne, my first acquaint- 
ance, is yet clammy with mud after a week's drought, 
and early in the morning when she gets up she is filthy 
to a degree that is indecent. The etymology of Paris is 
mud ; the etymology of the Bourbons is mud, and mud 
to the last note of time will be Paris and the Bourbons. 

As for the noise of the streets, I need not attempt to 
describe it. What idea can ears, used only to the ordi- 
nary and human noises, conceive of this unceasing racket 
— this rattling of the cabs and other vehicles over the 
rough stones, this rumbling of the omnibuses. For the 
street cries — one might have relief from them by a file 
and handsaw. — First, the prima donna of the fish mar- 
ket opens the morning: Carpes tontes fraiches ; voila 
des carpes ! And then stand out of the way for the 
glazier : $.u vitriere ! quavering down the chromatic to 
the lowest flat upon the scale. Next the iron-monger 
with his rasps, and files and augurs, which no human 
ears could withstand, but that his notes are happily mel- 
lowed by the seller of old clothes : Marchand de drap ! 
in a monotone so low and spondaic, and so loud as to 



34 ST. ROCH. 

make Lablache die of envy. About nine is full chorus, 
headed by the old women and their proclamations : 
Horrible attentat contre la vie du roi Louis Philippe 
— et la petite chienne cle Madame la Marquise — egaree 
a dix heures — V Jlrchevtque de Paris — Le Sieitr La- 
cenaire — Louis Philippe, le Proces monstre — et tout 
cela pour quatre sous ! being set loose all at the same 
time, tuned to different keys. All things of this earth 
seek, at one time or another, repose — all but the noise 
of Paris. The waves of the sea are sometimes still, but 
the chaos of these streets is perpetual from generation to 
generation ; it is the noise that never dies. Many new 
comers have been its victims. In time, however — such 
is the complaisance of human nature — we become, re- 
conciled even to this never-ending hubbub. It becomes 
even necessary, it is said, to one's comforts. There are 
persons here who get a night-mare in a place of tran- 
quillity and can sleep only upon the Boulevards. 

Paris and I are yet on ceremonious terms. I venture 
upon her acquaintance as one who walks upon ice : it is 
the boy's first lesson of skating. I am not much versed 
in towns any way, and this one is ahead of my expe- 
rience. In my case one is ignorant and afraid to ask 
information. I did venture this morning to ask what 
general that was— a fat, decent-looking gentleman, in 
silk stockings, and accoutred in regimentals. That gene- 
ral, sir, is Prince Talleyrand's lacquey. Soon after I 
inquired what house was that barn of a place. That 
house, sir, is the Louvre. So I must feel the ground 
under me. Yesterday being Sunday, (which I found out 
by the almanac,) I went to St. Roch's. I had the luck 
to hit upon the fashionable church ; but the preacher 
was the god of dulness. The world, he says, is grow- 
ing worse and worse ; we being greater rogues than our 



THE BOULEVARDS. 35 

ancestors, and about to produce a worse set of rogues 
than ourselves. " The antichrist is already come." If 
he had said the antichrist of wit, anybody would have 
believed him — and yet this is the very pulpit from which 
the Bossuets and Bourdaloues used to preach. The house 
was filled almost entirely with women. One might think 
that none go to heaven in this country but the fair sex. 
The worshipers seem intent enough upon their devo- 
tions, but the wide avenues at the sides are rilled with a 
crowd of idle, curious and disorderly spectators. Give 
me a French church ; one walks in here booted and 
spurred, looks at the pretty women and the pictures, 
whistles a tune, if one chooses, and then walks out 
again. 

They have not spoiled the architectural beauty of St. 
Roch's by pews and galleries. The walls are adorned 
splendidly with paintings, and here and there are 
groups of statuary; and the altar being finely gilt and 
illuminated looks magnificently. When I build a church 
I will decorate it somewhat in this manner. It is good 
to imitate nature as much as one can in all things, and 
she has set us the example in this. She has adorned 
her great temple, the world, with green fields and 
fragrant flowers, and its superb dome, the firmament, 
with stars. I walked in the Tuileries after church, 
where I saw a great number of naked statues and pretty 
women. The pretty women were not naked. I sat 
down awhile by the goddess of wisdom : This is the sum 
of my adventures. 

Oh, no ! I ventured also a walk last night upon the 
Boulevards, about twilight. How adorable is the 
Madelaine ! While staring at this church, (for staring 
is the only expression of countenance one pretends to 
the first week of Paris,) a little girl, but not a little 



36 SULTANAS OF THE BOULEVARDS. 

graceful and pretty, presented me a bouquet. But, my 
dear, I have no change. " Mais, qu'est ce que cela 
fait?" and she turned it about with her taper fingers, 
and fixed it and unfixed it, though there were but two 
leaves and a rose bud, and then arranged it in a button 
hole, showing all the while her pearly teeth and laugh- 
ing black eyes. She had the finesse to gain admiration 
for her charms without seeming to court it. We now 
walked on a few steps, when we met other women of a 
richer attire, and of very easy, unembarrassed manners, 
who also said very obliging things to us, walking along 
side. 

There is a kind of men in New England, who cannot 
be beaten out of the dignity of a walk; who would 
rather die than be seen running, which is perhaps the 
reason they won the battle of Bunker's Hill. Now ft if 
you would represent to yourself something very comi- 
cal, you must imagine my companion, straight-laced in 
his gravity, escorted by one of these Sultanas of the 
Boulevards, all betawdried and rustling in her silks — 
Mori petit cceur ! — Moil petit ami! — Venez done! 
At last turning suddenly upon her, with a look and air 
of menace and expostulation, he invoked her in a most 
solemn manner to depart ; though she understood not 
a word of the exorcism, she obeyed instantly ; the ges- 
ture and tone being significant enough; and she went 
off, as evil spirits do usually in such cases, murmuring : 
" Pourquoi me tenir done a causer, ce diable d'homme ? 
11 m'a fait perdre au moins deux messieurs" » 

We now descended by the Rue St. Anne towards 
our lodgings, talking as we went to prevent thinking 
—for we are both very tender-hearted, so far from 
home — he of his Yankee wife, how industrious, how 
economical, and how she has resigned all the intercourse 



PARISIAN LODGINGS. 37 

and pleasures of the world, to teach the little children 
their catechism and their astronomy ; and I of our dear 
little wives of Schuylkill, so amiable, so cheerful, tem- 
pering their duties with amusements, and not forgetting 
the claims of society — when suddenly we observed in a 
dark corner, reached only by a few rays of a distant 
lamp, a queer old woman, seated, her knees and chin 
together, and rocking herself on a chair. She rose up 
in the face of my companion, who knows no French, 
with an immense gabble : Des demoiselles ires distin- 
guees f—jolies comme des anges ! and instantly we 
were hemmed round with a fluttering troupe of the 
angels; but we escaped into the Hotel des •fl.mbassa- 
deurs, and locked our doors for the night. Please 
direct your letters to this house, No. 64 Rue St. Jinne. 

Hotel des Ambassadeurs, Jul}'' 6th, 1835. 

I must tell you how one lodges in Paris. A hotel 
is a huge edifice mostly in form of a parallelogram, 
and built around a paved court yard, which serves as 
a landing for carriages as well as for persons on foot, 
and leads up to the apartments by one or more stair- 
cases. In the centre of the front wall is a wide door 
(a porte cochlre) opening from the street; and just 
inside a lodge (a concierge) and a porter, who wakes 
night and day over the concerns of the establishment. 
This porter is an important individual, holding about 
the same place in a Paris hotel that Cerberus holds — 
(I leave you a place for the rhyme.) He is usually 
a great rogue, a spy of the government, and a shoe- 
maker; cobbles the holes he makes in your boots, and 
his wife darns those she makes in your stockings. He 
is always a bad enemy and a useful friend, and you 
purchase his good will by money and condescensions, 
vol. i. — 4 



38 THE PORTER. 

as a first minister's. He lets your rooms, he attends 
them, receives parcels, letters, messages, runs errands, 
answers your visits, and fines you a shilling if you stay 
out after twelve;* and his relation with many lodgers 
enables him to give you these services, I am ashamed 
to tell you. how cheap. By proper attentions, also, to his 
wife, there will come to your bed every morning, at the 
hour you appoint, a cup of coffee or tea, and the enter- 
tainment of the lady's conversation while you sip it. 
Each story of a hotel is divided into apartments and 
rooms; that is, accommodation for whole families or 
individuals ; distinction, and of course price, decreasing 
upwards. For example, he who lives a story lower 
down thinks himself above you, and you in return 
consider him overhead below you. A third story in 
the Rue Castiglione or Rivoli is equal in rank to a 
second story anywhere else. 

The porter's Lodge is a little niche about eight feet 
square. It pays no rent, but receives a salary, usually 
of sixty dollars a year, from the proprietor. Our por- 
ter is a man of several talents. He tunes pianos for 
ten sous, and plays at the " Petit Lazari" of a night 
for two francs. Indeed his whole family plays ; his 
grandmother plays the "Mother of the Gracchi." He 
takes care, too, of his wife's father, but he dresses him 
up as a Pair de France, or a Doge, and makes a good 
deal out of him also. Besides he has a dog, which he 
expects soon to play the " Chien de Montargis," he is 
studying ; and a magpie which plays already in the 
"Pie Voleuse." It is by these several industries that 
he is enabled to clean my boots once a day, take care 
of my room, and do all the domestic services required 
by a bachelor, at six francs a month ; and he has grown 
into good circumstances. But, alas! impartial fate, that 



MONSIEUR SMIT. 39 

knocks at the Porter's Lodge, as at the gates of the 
Louvre! — His only son, in playing Collin last winter, 
a shepherd's part in a vaudeville, had to wear a pair 
of white muslin breeches in the middle of the incle- 
ment season ; he took cold and died of a fluxion de 
poitrine ! The mother wept in telling this story, and 
then, some one coming in, she smiled. 

One is usually a little shy of these hotels at first sight ; 
especially if one comes from the Broad Mountain. You 
take hold of an unwieldy knocker, you lift it up cau- 
tiously, and open flies the door six inches ; you then 
push yourself through, and look about with a kind of a 
suspicious and sheepish look, and you see no one. At 
length you discover an individual, who will not seem 
to take the least notice of you, till you intrude rather 
far; then he will accost you: Que demandez-vous, 
Monsieur? — I wish to see Mr. Smith. Monsieur? — 
Monsieur, il ne demure pas ici — Que tu es bete! 
exclaims the wife, c'est Monsieur Smit. Out, oui, out 
- — au quatrieme, Monsieur, audessus de P entresol ; 
and with this information, of which you understand not 
a syllable, you proceed up stairs, and there you ring all 
the bells to the garret ; but no one knows Mr. Smith. 

The houses here are by no means simple and uni- 
form as with us. The American houses are built, as 
ladies are dressed, all one way. First, there is a pair of 
rival saloons, which give themselves the air of parlors ; 
and then there is a dining-room, and corresponding 
chambers above to the third or fourth story ; and an 
entry runs through the middle or alongside without 
stopping ; at the farthest end of which is the kitchen ; so 
that one always stands upon the marble of the front 
door in December until Kitty has traveled this distance 
to let one in. How many dinners frozen in their own 



40 HABITS OF CLIMBING. 

sauces, how many lovers chilled, by this refrigeratory 
process! — Here, if you just look at the knocker, the 
door, as if by some invisible hand, flies open ; and when 
you descend, if you say " Cordon" just as Ali Baba 
said " Sesame," the door opens and delivers you to the 
street. The houses, too, have private rooms and secret 
doors, and intricate passages ; and one can be said to be 
at home in one's own house. A thief designing to rob 
lias to study beforehand the topography of each one, 
without which he can no more unravel it than the 
Apocalypse. There are closets, too, and doors in many 
of the rooms unseen by the naked eye. Is a gentleman 
likely to be intruded on by th# bailiff? he sinks into the 
earth; and a lady, if surprised in her dishabille or any 
such emergency, just disappears into the wall. 

No private dwellings are known in Paris. A style 
which gives entire families and individuals, at a price 
that would procure them very mean separate lodgings, 
the air of living in a great castle ; and they escape by it, 
all that emulation about houses, and door servants, and 
street display, which brings so much fuss and expense 
in our cities. To climb up to the second or third story 
is, to be sure, inconvenient; but once there your climb- 
ing ends. Parlors, bed-rooms, kitchen and all the rest 
are on the same level. Moreover, climbing is a dispo- 
sition of our nature. " In our proper motion we ascend/' 
See with what avidity we climb when we are boys ; and 
we climb when we are old, because it reminds us of our 
boyhood. I have no doubt that the daily habit oi 
climbing, too, has a good moral influence ; it gives one 
dispositions to rise in the world. I ought to remark 
here that persons in honest circumstances do not have 
kitchens in their own houses. 

It is in favor of the French style not a little that if 



MANNER OF LIVING. 41 

improves the quality at least of one class of lodgers. 
Mean houses degrade men's habits, and lower their 
opinions of living. As for me, I like this Paris way, 
but I don't know why. I like to see myself under the 
same roof with my neighbors. One of them is a pretty 
woman with the prettiest little foot imaginable ; and 
only think of meeting this little foot, with which one has 
no personal acquaintance, three or four times a day on 
the staircase ! Indeed, the solitude of a private dwell- 
ing begins to seem quite distressing. To be always 
with people one knows ! It paralyzes activity, breeds 
selfishness and. other disagreeable qualities. Solitary 
life has its vices, too, as well as any other. 

On the other hand a community of living expands 
one's benevolent affections, begets hospitality, mutual 
forbearance, politeness, respect for public opinion, and 
keeps cross husbands from beating their wives, and. 
vice versa. If Xantippe had lived in a French hotel, 
she would not have kept throwing things out of the 
window upon her husband's head. The domestic 
virtues are, to be sure, well enough in their way; but 
they are dull, and unless kept in countenance by good 
company, they go too soon to bed. Indeed, that word 
"home," so sacred in the mouths of Englishmen, often 
means little else than dozing in an arm-chair, listening 
to the squeaking of children, or dying of the vapors; at 
all events the English are the people of the world most 
inclined to leave these sanctities of home. Here they 
are by hundreds, running in quest of happiness all 
about Europe. 

But to return. My object, in setting out, was to show 
you as nearly as possible my manner of living in the 
street of St. Anne. I have a chambre de gargon au 
second ; this means a bachelor's room in the third story. 

4* 



42 FRENCH CLEANLINESS. 

As companions I have General Kellerman, and a naked 
Mars over the chimney (not Mademoiselle), and a little 
Bonaparte about three inches long ; and on a round 
table, with a marble cover, there are an old Rabelais 
and a Seneca's Maxims, with manuscript notes on the 
margin, and a Bible open at Jeremiah. The floor is a 
kind of brick pavement, upon which a servant performs 
a series of rubbings, every morning with a brush at- 
tached to his right foot ; which gives it a slippery and 
mahogany surface. We have a livery stable also in the 
yard, and several persons lodge here for the benefit of 
the smell; it being good against the consumption. Of 
the staircase I say nothing now, as I intend some day 
to write a treatise upon French Staircases. This one 
has not been washed ever, unless by some accident such 
as Noah's flood. Indeed the less one says of French 
cleanliness in the way of houses, the better. Our land- 
lady appears no more delighted with a clean floor, than 
an antiquary would be with a scoured shield ; and there 
is none of the middling hotels of Paris that presumes to 
be better than this. I ought to remark here that ser- 
vants do not run about from one garret to another as 
they do in America. A French servant is transmitted 
to posterity. Our coachman says he has been in this 
family several hundred years. 

When one cannot travel in the highway of lifa with 
a fashionable equipage, it is pleasant to steal along its 
secret path unnoticed. A great man is so jostled by 
the throng that either he cannot think at all, or in 
gathering its silly admiration, so occupied with in- 
trigues and mere personal vanities, that the good quali- 
ties of his understanding are perverted, and he loses 
at length his taste for innocent enjoyments. But tra- 
veling in this sober unambitious way, one may gather 



THE GRAND OPERA. 43 

flowers by the road side ; one has leisure for the con- 
templation of useful and agreeable things ; and is not 
obliged to follow absurd fashion, or keep up trouble- 
some appearances ; and one can get into low company 
when one pleases, without being suspected. Now I 
can wander "on my short-tailed nag" all over the 
country ; I can get sometimes into a coucoit, and ride 
out to St. Germains, or stroll unconcerned through the 
markets and ask the price of fruits ; of cassolettes, mus- 
cats and jargonelles, and of grapes ; and I can eat a 
bunch or two upon the pavement, just fresh from Fon- 
tainbleau ; and do a great many innocent things which 
persons of distinction dare not do. This is the life of 
those who lodge at the " Hotel des Ambassadeurs." 

Here are two sheets filled, with what meagre events ! 
and how much below the dignity of history ! But I 
console myself that trifles, like domestic anecdotes, are 
often the most characteristic. I will be your Boswell to 
the city of Paris. Who knows but I may fancy to make 
some sort of a book from these letters at my return home ? 
If you think such a design excusable, pray, save them 
from the flames. I write them as notes upon the field 
of battle. They are Caesar's Commentaries with the 
exception of the wit. 

July 7th. 

I went with my Yankee companion last night to the 
Grand Opera ; and at the risk of being enormously long, 
I am going to add a postscript ; for it is a wet day, and 
I have no better way to beguile the lazy twenty-four 
hours. They admit the spectators to a French the- 
atre in files of two between high railings, and under the 
grim and bearded authority of the police, which pre- 
vents crowding and disorder ; and whoever wishes to 



44 TAGLIONI. 

go in, not having a seat provided, " makes tail," as they 
call it, by entering the file in the rear. A number of 
speculators also stand in the ranks at an early hour, and 
sell out their places at an advance to the more tardy, so 
that you have always this resort to obtain a good enough 
seat. In approaching the house persons will offer you 
tickets with great importunity in the streets. With one 
of these which, by cheapening a little, I got at double 
price, I procured admission to the pit. 

IS ana-Use de la Piece ; voilcl le programme! These 
are two phrases — meaning only the analysis and bill of 
the play, at two sous — which you will hear croaked with 
the most obstreperous discord through the house, in the 
intervals of the performance, to bring out Monsieur 
Auber and Scribe, and the Donnas. It is probably for 
the same reason the owls are permitted to sing in the 
night, to bring out the nightingales. — The opera last 
night was "Robert le Diable," — void Vanalise de la 
piece. 

There was the representation of a grave-yard and a 
resurrection ; and the ghosts, at least two hundred, flocked 
out of the ground in white frocks and silk stockings, and 
they squeaked and gibbered all over the stage. Then 
they asked one another out to dance, and performed the 
most fashionable ballets of their country, certainly, in a 
manner very creditable to the other world. And while 
these waltzed and quadrilled, another set were entertain- 
ing themselves with elegant and fashionable amuse- 
ments; some were turning summersets upon a new 
grave; others playing at whist upon a tombstone, and 
others again were jumping the rope over a winding 
sheet; when suddenly they all gave a screech and 
skulked into their graves ; there was a flutter through 
the house, the music announcing some great event, and 



TAGLIONI. 45 

at length, amidst a burst of acclamations, Mademoiselle 
Taglioni stood upon the margin of the scene. She 
seemed to have alighted there from some other sphere. 

I expected to be little pleased with this lady, I had 
heard such frequent praises of her accomplishments, but 
was disappointed. Her exceeding beauty surpasses the 
most excessive eulogy. Her dance is the whole rheto- 
ric of pantomime ; its movements, pauses and attitudes 
in their purest Attic simplicity, chastity and urbanity. 
She has a power over the feelings which you will be 
unwilling to concede to her art. She will make yonr 
heart beat with joy : she will make you weep by the sole 
eloquence of her limbs. What inimitable grace ! In all 
she attempts you will love her, and best in that which 
she attempts last. If she stands still you will wish her 
a statue, that she may stand still always ; or if she 
moves you will wish her a wave of the sea that she may 
do nothing but that — " move still, still so, and own no 
other function."— To me she appeared last night to have 
filled up entirely the illusion of the play — to have shuf- 
fled off this gross and clumsy humanity, and to belong 
to some more airy and spiritual world. 

But my companion, who is a professor, and a little 
ecclesiastical, and bred in that most undancing country, 
New England, was scandalized at the whole perform- 
ance. He is of the old school, and has ancient notions 
of the stage, and does not approve this modern way of 
"holding the mirror up to nature." He was displeased 
especially at the scantiness of the lady's wardrobe. I 
was born farther south, and could better bear it. 

The art of dressing has been carried often by the ladies 
to a blameable excess of quantity ; so much so, that a 
great wit said in his day, a woman was " the least part 
of herself." Taglioni's sins, it is true, do not lie on this 



46 THE GRAND OPERA. 

side of the category ; she produced last evening nothing 
but herself — Mademoiselle Taglioni in the abstract. 
Ovid would not have complained of her. Her lower 
limbs wore a light silk, imitating nature with undistin- 
guishable nicety, and her bosom a thin gauze which just 
relieved the eye, as you have seen a fine fleecy cloud 
hang upon the dazzling sun. But there is no gentleman 
out of New England who would not have grieved to 
see her spoilt by villainous mantua-makers. She did not, 
moreover, exceed what the courtesy of nations has per- 
mitted, and what is necessary to the proper exhibition of 
her art. 

They call this French opera the « Jlcademie Roy ale 
de Musique" also the " Frangais" in contradistinction 
with the " It alien ;" finally the " Grand Opera ;" this 
latter name because it has a greater quantity of thunder 
and lightning, of pasteboard seas, of paper snow storms, 
and dragons that spit fire ; also a gorgeousness of ward- 
robe and scenery not equaled upon any theatre of Eu- 
rope. It is certain its " corps de ballet" can outdance 
all the world put together. 

Mercy ! how deficient we are in our country in these 
elegant accomplishments. In many things we are still 
in our infancy, in dancing we are not yet born. We 
have, it is true, our "balances" and "chassis" and 
back-lo-backs, and our women do throw a great deal of 
soul into their little feet — as on a " birth-night," or an 
" Eighth of January," or the like ; — but the Grand 
Opera, the Opera Fran^ais, the Academie Royale de 
Musique ! J3h, ma foi, c'est Id, une autre affaire! 
You have read, and so has everybody, of the " dancing 
Greeks;" of Thespis, so described by Herodotus, who 
used to dance on his head, his feet all the while dan- 
gling in the air ; of the " Gaditanian girls," so sung by 



THE GUINGUETTES. 47 

Anacreon ; of Hylas, who danced before Augustus ; of 
the " dancing Dervishes," who danced their religion 
like our Shakers • of the pantomimic dances, described 
by Raynal,and the Turkish Almas, by the " sweet Mary 
Montague ;" and finally, every one has heard of the 
" Age of Voltaire, the King of Prussia and Vestris " — 
well, all this is outdanced by Taglioni and the Grand 
Opera. 

This opera has seats for two thousand spectators, 
besides an immense saloon (two hundred feet by fifty) 
where a great number of fashionables, to relieve their 
ears from the noise of the singing, promenade themselves 
magnificently during the whole evening, under the light 
of brilliant lustres, and where the walls, wainscotted 
with mirrors, multiply their numbers and charms to 
infinity. — I may as well continue dancing through the 
rest of this page. 

Dancing, you know, is a characteristic amusement of 
the French, and you may suppose they have accommo- 
dations to gratify their taste to its fullest extent. There 
are elegant rotundas for dancing in nearly all the public 
gardens, as at " Tivoli," " Waxhal d'Ete," and the 
" Chaumiere de Mont Parnasse." Besides there are 
«< Guinguettes" at every Barriere; and in the " Village 
Fetes," which endure the whole summer, dancing is 
the chief amusement ; and public bail-rooms are distri- 
buted through every quarter of Paris, suited to every 
one's rank and fortune. The best society of Paris go to 
the balls of Ranelah, Auteuil and St. Cloud. The thea- 
tres, too, are converted into ball-rooms, especially for the 
masquerades, from the beginning to the end of the Car- 
nival. 

I hired, a cabriolet and driver the other night, and 
went with a lady from New Orleans, to see the most 



48 ANTIQUITY OF DANCING. 

famous of the " Guinguettes." Here all the little world 
seemed to me completely and reasonably happy ; be- 
having with all the decency, and dancing with almost 
the grace of high life. We visited half a dozen, paying 
only ten sous at each for admission. I must not tell 
you it was Sunday night; it is so difficult to keep Sunday 
all alone, and without any one to help you ; the clergy 
find a great deal of trouble to keep it themselves here, 
there is so little encouragement. On Sunday only these 
places are seen to advantage. I am very far from ap- 
proving of dancing on this day, if one can help it; but 
I have no doubt that in a city like Paris, the dancers are 
more taken from the tavern and ginshops than from the 
churches. I do not approve, either, of the absolute de- 
nunciation this elegant amusement incurs from many of 
our religious classes in America. If human virtues are 
put up at too high a price, no one will bid for them. Not 
a word is said against dancing in the Old or New Tes- 
tament, and a great deal in favor. Miriam danced, you 
know how prettily; and David danced "before the Lord 
with all his might ;" to be sure the manner of his danc- 
ing was not quite so commendable, according to the 
fashion of our climates. If you will accept classical 
authority, I will give you pedantry pardessus la tzte. 
The Greeks ascribe to dancing a celestial origin, and they 
admitted it even amongst the accomplishments and 
amusements of their divinities. The graces are repre- 
sented almost always, in the attitude of dancing ; and 
Apollo, the most amiable of the gods, and the god of 
wisdom, too, is called by Pindar the " dancer." Indeed, 
I could show you, if I pleased, that Jupiter himself some- 
times took part in a cotillon, and on one occasion danced 
a gavot. 



ANTIQUITY OF DANCING. 49 

There it is proved to you from an ancient Greek poet. 
1 could show you, too, that Epaminondas, amongst his 
rare qualities, is praised by Cornelius Nepos for his skill 
in dancing ; and that Themistocles, in an evening party 
at Athens, passed for a clown for refusing to take a share 
in a dance. But it is so foppish to quote Greek and to 
be talking to women about the ancients. Don't say 
that dancing is not a natural inclination, or I will set all 
the savages on you of the Rocky Mountains ; and I don't 
know how many of the dumb animals — especially the 
bears, who even on the South Sea Islands, where they 
could not have any relations with the Academie Royale 
de Musique, always express their extreme joy, Captain 
Cook says, by this agreeable agitation of limbs. And if 
you won't believe all this, I will take you to see a negro 
holiday on the Mississippi. — Now this is enough about 
dancing ; it is very late, and I must dance off to bed. 

It is necessary to be as much in love with dancing as 
1 am to preach so pedantically about it as I have in this 
postscript. — Its enormous length, when you have seen 
Mademoiselle Taglioni, wants no apology. When you 
do see her, take care her legs don't get into your head ; 
they kept capering in mine all last night. 



vol. i. — 5 



50 THE BOULEVARDS. 



LETTER III. 

The Boulevards — Boulevard Madelaine — Boulevard des Capucines— 
Boulevard Italien— Monsieur Careme — Splendid cafes — The baths 
— Boulevard Montmartre — The shoe-black — The chiffonnier — The 
gratteur — The commissionnaire — Boulevard du Temple — Scene 
at the x^mbigu Comique — Sir Sydney Smith — Monsieur de Paris — 
The Cafe Turc — The fountains — Recollections of the Bastille — 
The Halle aux Bles — The Bicetre — Boulevard du Mont Parnasse. 

Paris, July, 1835. 
The main street of Paris, and one of the most re- 
markable streets of the whole world, is the Boulevard. 
It runs from near the centre towards the east, and coils 
around the circumference of the city. Its adjacent houses 
are large, black and irregular in height, resembling at a 
distance battlements or turreted castles. Its course is 
zig-zag, and each section has a different name and dif- 
ferent pursuits; so that it presents you a new face and 
character ; a new and picturesque scene, at every quarter 
of a mile. This does not please, at first sight, an eye 
formed upon our Quaker simplicity of Philadelphia, but 
it is approved by the general taste. Our Broadways 
and Chestnut streets and Regent streets are exhausted at 
a single view ; the Boulevard entertains all day. Its 
sidewalks are delightfully wide, and overshaded with 
elms. Before the visits of the allies it had eight miles 
of trees ; a kind of ornament that is held in better esteem 
in European than in American cities. Our ancestors 
took a dislike to trees, from having so much grubbing at 
their original forests, and their enmity has been infused 



THE MADELAINE. 51 

into the blood. To cut down a tree is now a hereditary- 
passion ; I have often spent whole days in its gratuitous 
indulgence. A squatter of the back woods begins by- 
felling the trees indiscriminately- ; and he is most honored, 
as those first Germans we read of in Caesar, who has 
made the widest devastation around his dwelling. Your 
Pottsville, which ten years ago was a forest, has to-day 
not a fig leaf to cover its nakedness. 

Here is a gentleman just going to Philadelphia, who 
will hand you this letter; I send also a map of Paris, 
that I may have your company on such rambles as I 
may chance to take through the capital. To-day I in- 
vite you to walk upon the Boulevards. 

On the west end is the Madelaine in full view of 
the street. While the other monuments of Paris are 
"dim with the mist of years," this stands like a new 
dressed bride in white and glowing marble ; its archi- 
tecture fresh from the age of Pericles. This church 
became pagan in the Revolution ; it was for a while 
the " Temple of Glory," and has returned to the true 
Catholic faith. Three mornings of the week, you will 
find at its feet half an acre in urns, baskets and hedges, 
of all that nature has prettiest in her magazine of flow- 
ers; delighting the eye by their tasteful combination 
of colors, and embalming the air with their fragrance. 
I am sorry you are not a gentleman, I could describe 
to you so feelingly the flower girl — her fichu too nar- 
row by an inch ; her frock rumpled and disordered, and 
hung upon her as if by the graces. Her laughing eyes 
emulate the diamond ; and love has pressed his two 
fingers upon her brunette cheeks. This is the Boule- 
vard Madelaine. On the south side a sad looking 
garden occupies its whole length. I asked of a French- 
man whose it was ; he says " it is the Minister of Strange 



52 M. THIERS. 

Affairs." It is the hotel of Monsieur Thiers, who wrote 
a book about the Revolution, and a " Treatise upon 
Wigs," and is now Minister des affaires etrangeres. 
I do not like hirn, this Mr. Thiers. I experienced yes- 
terday some impudence and pertness from one of the 
clerks of his office ; and these underlings, you know, re- 
present usually the qualifications of their masters in such 
particulars. 

To leave Paris for London requires your passport 
to be signed at the Police Office, at the American and 
English Ambassadors, and at the French Minister's. 
At the first office you are set down with a motley crew 
upon a bench, and there you sit, like one of those Vir- 
tues in front of the " Palais Bourbon," often an hour 
or two, until your name is called ; and when it is called 
you don't recognize it, and you keep sitting on unless 
provided with an interpreter. There is not anything 
in nature so unlike itself as one's name Frenchified — 
even a monosyllable. As for " John," it changes gen- 
ders altogether, and becomes " Jean." To the last three 
officers you pay the valedictory compliment of thirty 
francs, and get their impudence into the bargain. You 
will always find persons about your lodgings, called 
"facteurs" (they should be called benefactors,) who 
will do all this for you, for a small consideration, much 
better than you can do it yourself. 

You are now on the Boulevard des Capucines. It 
is raised about thirty feet, and the houses on the left 
side for a quarter of a mile are left in the valley. AH 
the high life here is below stairs. On the right side, 
you see apparently one of the happiest of human beings, 
the " marchand des chiens" who sells little dogs and 
parrots. "A six francs ma canicheP' — " Mar got h 
dix francs /"—with a gentle voice, half afraid some one 



MONSIEUR DE CAREME. 53 

might hear him ; he has become attached to his animals, 
and feels a sorrow to part with them. He feels as you 
for your chickens yoa have fed every day, when you 
must kill them for dinner. Poor little Azor, and Zemire ! 
Only think of seeing them no more ! He sells them a 
few francs cheaper, when the purchaser is rich and 
likely to treat them well. The French, especially the 
women, dote upon dogs beyond the example of all 
other nations, and yet have the nastiest race of curs upon 
the earth. A dog, they say, loves his master the more 
he is a vagabond, and the French, in return, love their 
dogs the more they are shabby. What I would give 
for a few of those eloquent bow ivoivs, which resound in 
the night from an American barn-yard, and which pro- 
tect so securely one's little wife from the thieves and 
the lovers while the husband is wandering in foreign 
lands ! 

Take off your hat; this is one of the choice and pre- 
eminent spots of the French capital ; the very seat al- 
most of the pleasures and amusements of Europe ; it is 
the Boulevard Iialien. It is here that gentlemen 
and ladies, when the labors of the day have closed, and 
not a care intrudes to distract the mind from the great 
business of deglutition and digestion, assemble of an 
evening to discuss the immense importance of a good 
dinner! Men make splendid reputations here which 
live after them by the invention of a single soup. It is 
here they make the sauces in which one might eat his 
own grandfather. This place was respected by the 
Holy Alliance; and Lord Wellington, in 1815, pitched 
his Marquee upon the Boulevard Italien. 

It is in vain to expect perfection in an art unless 
we honor those who exercise its functions. Monsieur 
Careme, (whom I mention for the sake of honor, and 

5* 



54 IMPORTANCE OF COOKERY. 

who lives close by here in the Rue Lafitte,) now cook 
to the Baron Rothschild and ex-cook to the Prince of 
Wales, is one of the most considerable persons of this 
age ; holding a high gentlemanly rank, and living in an 
enviable condition of opulence and splendor. He keeps 
his carriage, takes his airings of an evening, has his 
country seat, and his box at the opera; and has, indeed, 
every attribute requisite to make a gentleman in almost 
any country. The number of officers attached to his 
staff is greater than of any general of the present regime; 
his assistant roaster has a salary above our President 
of the United States. It is by this honorable recom- 
pense of merit that through all the vicissitudes of her 
various fortunes, France has still maintained unimpaired 
her great prerogative of teaching the nations how to cook. 
Monsieur de Careme is worthy a particular notice. 
He had an ancestor who was " chef de cuisine" of the 
Vatican, and invented a soupe maigre for his Holiness; 
and another, who was cook to the Autocratrix of all the 
Russias. How talents do run in some families! Him- 
self, having served an apprenticeship under an eminent 
artist of the Boulevard Italien, he invented a sauce 
piquante, when quite a young man; and by a regular 
cultivation of his fine natural powers, he has reached a 
degree of perfection in his art, which has long since set 
envy and rivalship at defiance. The truth is that a 
great cook is as rare a miracle as a great poet. It is 
well known that Claude Lorraine could not succeed in 
pastry with all his genius. 

" Et Balzac et Malherbe, si savans en bon mots, 
En cuisine peut-etre n'aurait ete que des sots." 

To whom, think you, does the British nation owe 
those Attic suppers, those feasts of the gods, which so 



EVENING PROMENADES. 55 

surprised the allied monarchs, and brought so much 
glory upon his late majesty? To Monsieur de Careme ; 
and to whom do you think the Baron Rothschild owes 
those clear and unclouded faculties with which he out- 
financiers all Europe and America ? Certes, to Mon- 
sieur de Careme. All the Baron has to do is to dine; 
digestion is done by his cook. Careme has refused 
invitations to nearly every European court; and it was 
only upon the most urgent solicitations that he consented 
to reside eight months at Carlton House ; a portion of 
his life upon which he looks back with much displeasure 
and repentance, and the remnant of his dayt he designs 
to consecrate with the greater zeal on this account to 
the honor and interests of his native country. He is 
now preparing a digest of his art, after the manner of 
the Code Napoleon ; and eminent critics, to whom he 
has communicated his work, pronounce it excellent both 
for its literary and culinary merits. 

To this Boulevard, also, the sweetmeat part of the cre- 
ation resort about twilight to their creams and lemon- 
ades and eau sucree. They seat themselves upon both 
margins of the trottoir upon chairs, leaving an interval 
between for the successive waves of pedestrians, who 
are also attracted hither by the fashion and elegance of 
the place. How charming, of a summer evening, to sit 
you down here upon one chair and put your feet upon 
another, and look whole hours away upon this little 
world; or to walk up and down and eye the double row 
of belles seated amidst the splendor of the gas-lamps, 
and who seem very sorry not to have lived at the Rape 
of the Sabines. In this group are examples of nearly 
all that is extant of the human species. I have seen a 
Bedouin of the Mer Rouge stumble upon a great 
ambassador from the Neva; and a Mandarin of the 



56 TORTONI ? S. 

Loo-koo run foul of an ex-schoolmaster of the Mahan- 
tongo. If any one is missing from your mines of 
Shamoken, come hither, and you will find him seated on 
a straw-bottomed chair on the Boulevard Italien. 

These splendid cafes are multiplied by mirrors, and 
being open, or separated only by panels of glass, ap- 
pear to form but a single tableau with the street, and 
those outside and in, seem parts of the same company. 
I recommend you the Cafe de Paris, the Cafe Hardi, 
the Cafe Veron, if you wish to mix with the fashion- 
able and merry world. If with the business world; with 
the great bankers, the millionaires, the noblesse de la 
Bourse, who smooth their cares with fat dinners and 
good wines, where else in the world should you go but 
to Tortoni's? There are not two Tortonis upon the 
earth. A dinner you may get at the Rocher Cancale, 
but a breakfast ! — it is to be had nowhere in all Europe 
out of Tortoni's. The ladies of high and fashionable 
life stop here before the door, and are served with ices 
by liveried waiters elegantly in their barouches; they 
cannot think of venturing in, there are so many more 
gentlemen outside. You will see here, both in and out, 
the most egregious cockneys of Europe, the beaux 
Brummels and the beaux Nashes, the " Flashes," and 
"Full-Swells" of London town, and in elegant apposi- 
tion, the Parisian exquisites. Was there ever anything 
so beautiful ! — No, tfhonneur. His boots are of Evrat, 
his coat Staub, vest Moreau, gloves and cravat Walker, 
and hat Bandoni; and Mrs. Frederic is his washerwo- 
man ! You will please give the superiority to the 
French. To make an elegant fop is more than the 
barber's business; nature herself must have a finger in 
the composition. Besides, if a man is born a fool, he is 



PARISIAN BATHS. 57 

a greater fool in Paris than elsewhere, there are such 
opportunities for acquirement. 

These are the French people. Don't you hate to see 
so many ninnies in mustaches ? If I had not the great 
Marlborough, and Bonaparte, and Apollo, on my side, 
all three unwhiskered, I would go home in the next 
packet. The moment one has made one's debut here 
in the world of beards, one is a man, and there is no 
manhood, founded on any other pretensions, that can 
dispense with this main qualification. It is the one emi- 
nent criterion of all merit ; it is a diploma ; a bill of 
credit as current as in the days of Albuquerque ; it is pro- 
motion in the army, in the diplomacy, even in the church ; 
you cannot be a saint without this grisly recommenda- 
tion. One loves the women just because they have no 
beards on their faces. 

Otherwise—^ la barbe prls — the French are well 
enough. It is the same kind of population, nearly, that 
one meets by the gross in New York and everywhere 
else. I looked about for Monsieur Dablancour, but 
could see nothing of him. In a foreign country a man 
is always a caricature of himself. The French are here 
in their own element, and swim in it naturally. One is 
always awkward from the very sense of not knowing 
foreign customs ; and always ridiculous abroad because 
every thing is ridiculous which departs from common and 
inveterate habit, and nothing is ridiculous which conforms 
with it. In a nation of apes it is becoming to be an ape. 
If you place a man of sense in a company of fools, it is 
the man of sense who is embarrassed and looks foolish. 
If one traveled into Timbuctoo I presume one would 
feel very foolish for being white. 

But this is not all that is worth your attention on the 
Boulevard Italiem If you love baths of oriental luxury, 



58 PRETTY SHOPWOMEN. 

here are the Bains Chinois just opposite. Personal 
cleanliness is the French virtue par excellence. Bathing 
in other countries is a luxury, in France a necessity. 
Hot baths as good as yours at Swaim's are at fifteen 
sous. The Bains Vigiers, at twenty sous a bath, made 
their proprietor a count. You can have baths here sim- 
ple and compound, inodorous and aromatic, with cold or 
warm, or clarified or Seine water ; and you have them 
with naked floors and ungarnished walls, and with all 
the luxury of tapestry and lounges; baths double and 
single, with and without attendance, with a whole skin, 
or flayed alive with friction. And besides these baths 
ordinary and extraordinary — Russian, Turkish, and Chi- 
nese — you have baths specific against all human infirm- 
ities; baths alcalic, sulphurous, fumigatory, oleaginous, 
and antiphlogistic. All the mineral waters of Europe 
pour themselves at your feet in the middle of Paris. Spa, 
Seltzer, Barege, Aix-la-chapelle and Ginsnack ; manu- 
factured, every one of them, in the street of the Univer- 
sity, Gros Caillou, No. 21. And this is not all; there is 
the "ambulatory bath," which walks into your bedside, 
and embracing you, walks out again at thirty sous. 
C'esl tin vrai pays de Cocagne, que ce Paris. 

And if you love gewgaws, gingumbobs, and pretty 
shop girls, why, here they are at the Bazaar. The 
French take care, as no other people, to furnish such 
places with pretty women, and they turn their influence, 
as women, to the account of the shop. The English, I 
have heard, put all their deformities into their bazaars, 
that customers, they say, may attend to the other mer- 
chandise. The French way is the more sensible. I 
have been ruined already several times by the same shop 
girl —caressing and caressing each of one's fingers, as 
she tries on a pair of gloves one don't want. 



ARTICLES OF MERCHANDIZE. 59 

Or if you love the fine arts, where are all the print- 
shops of Paris? Why, here. You can buy here Calyp- 
sos and Cleopalras all naked, with little French faces ; 
and Scipios and Csesars, and other marshals of the Em- 
pire, from any price down to three sous a piece. Fi- 
nally, if you love the best pales in this world, we will 
just step over into the Passage Panorama to Madame 
Felix's—Sweet Passage Panorama ! How often have 
I walked up and down beneath the crystal roof as the 
dusky evening came on, with arms folded, and in the 
narcotic influence of a choice Havana, forgotten all — all 
but that a yawning gulf lies between me and my friends 
and native country. 

Give a sou to this little Savoyard with the smiling 
face, who sweeps the crossings. " Jlh, Madame, re- 
gardez dans voire petite poche si vous rtavez pas uri 
petit sou a me donner /" How can you refuse him ? 
If you do, he will make you just the same thankful bow 
in the best forms of French courtesy. 

We are now on the Boulevard Montmartre. Here 
are cashmeres and silks from Arabia ; merinos veritable 
barbe de Pacha, chalys, a mousseline Thibet, Pondi- 
cherry, unis et broche, and pocket handkerchiefs at two 
sous. — Ah, come along ! And here are six pairs of 
ladies' legs, showing at the window the silk stocking. 
How gracefully gartered ! And from above how the 
white curtain falls down modestly in front almost to the 
knee. Don't be in such a hurry ! — they are twice as 
natural as living legs ! And here are dolls brevetted by 
the king, and milliners aprix fixe, at a fixed price, and 
here is M. Dutosq, fabricant de sac en papier, manu- 
facturer of little paper-bags-to-put-pepper-in to his ma- 
jesty ; and Madame Raggi, who lets out Venuses and 
other goddesses to the drawing-schools, at two sous an 



60 THE MODERN SHOPKEEPER. 

hour. And look at this shop of women's ready-made 
articles. Here one can be dressed cap-a-pie for four 
francs and eleven centimes — (three-quarters of a dollar,) 
— frock, petticoat, fichu, bonnet, stockings and chemise ! 
— I should like to see any woman go naked in Paris. 
A student, also, can buy here a library on the street from 
a quarter of a mile of books, at six sous a volume. I 
have just bought Rousseau in calf, octavo, at ten sons ! 

Since the last Revolution commerce has taken a new 
spirit ; the bourgeois blood has got uppermost. The 
greatest barons now are the Rothschilds, and the great- 
est ministers the Lafittes. The style, too, has risen to 
the level of the new bureaucratic nobility. The shop- 
keeper of these times is at your service, a commergant, 
his " boutique" is a magazin, his " contoir" his bureau, 
and his " pratique" his clientelle. Even the signs, as 
you see, speak a magnificent language. It is the "Maga- 
zin du Doge de Venise" or " Magazin du Zodiaque" 
— " des Vepres Siciliennes" or " Grand Magazin de 
Nouveante." And if the Doge of Venice is " selling out 
cheap," the language is of course worthy of a Doge ; it 
is " au rabais par cessation de commerce." The 
Bourse is now a monument of the capital, and disputes 
rank with the Louvre. The "petit Marquis" is the 
banker's son, and the marshals of the empire are sold 
"second hand !" in the frippery market. 

I intended to write you in English ; but the French 
creeps in in spite of me ; I shall be as hermaphrodite as 
my Lady Morgan. 

This is one of the prettiest of the Boulevards, and you 
will see here a great many fine women en promenade 
of a morning, about twelve. When a French lady walks 
out, she always takes at one side her caniche by a string, 
and at the other, sometimes, a beau without a string. 



MORNING WALKS. 61 

In either way she monopolizes the whole street, and you 
are continually getting between her and the puppy very 
much to your inconvenience ; for if you offend the dog, 
the mistress is of course implacable, and you very likely 
have to meet her gallant in the Forest of Bondy, next 
morning. But you can turn this evil sometimes to ad- 
vantage. If you see, for instance, a pretty woman 
alone, with her curry companion, you can just walk on, 
" commercing with the skies" till the lady gets one side 
of you and the dog the other ; this will give you the op- 
portunity of begging her pardon, of patting and stroking 
the dog a little ; it may break the ice towards an ac- 
quaintance ; or, if the place be convenient to fall, you had 
better let her trip you up, and then she will be very 
sorry. — If you think it is a little thing to get a pretty 
woman's pity on your side, you are very much mistaken. 
Let me introduce you to this shoe-black. He has, as 
you see, a little box, a brush or two in it, and blacking, 
and a fixture on top for a foot ; this is his fond de' bou- 
tique, his stock in trade. He brushes off the mud to the 
soles of your feet, and shows you your own features in 
your boots for three sous. This one has just dissolved 
an ancient firm, and his advertisement, which he calls a 
" prospectus," standing here so prim upon a board, an- 
nounces the event. The partnership is dissolved, but 
the whole "personnel," he says, of the establishment 
remains with the present proprietor ; and M. Baradaque, 
ex-partner, has also the honor to inform us that he has 
transported the " appareil de son HablissemenV to the 
" Place de la Bourse, une des plus jolies locations de la 
ville." The " Decrotteur en chef," at the Palais Royal, 
and other places of fashion, has his assistants, and serves 
a dozen or two of customers at a time. He has a shop 
furnished with cloth-covered benches in amphitheatre, as 
vol, i. — 6 



62 THE CHIFF0NN1ER. 

at the Chamber of Deputies, with a long horizontal iron 
support for the foot, and pictures are hung around the 
walls. " Oil dit, monsieur, que c'est d'aprbs Teniers — 
celui, monsieur? c'est aprls Vandyke" and there are 
newspapers and reviews ; so that to polish a gentleman's 
boots and his understanding are parts of the same pro- 
cess. 

There is a variety of other little trades, and industries, 
which derive their chief means of life from the wants 
and luxuries of this street ; which I may. as well call to 
37-our notice en passant. I mean trades that are " tout 
Parisiennes" that is to say, unknown in any other 
country than Paris. You will see an individual moving 
about at all hours of the night, silent and active, and 
seeing the smallest bit of paper in the dark, where you 
can see nothing ; and with a hook in the end of a stick, 
picking it up, and pitching it with amazing dexterity 
into a basket tied to his left shoulder ; with a cat-like 
walk, being everywhere and nowhere at the same time, 
stirring up the rubbish of every nook and gutter of the 
street, under your very nose;— this is the chiffonnier. 
He is a very important individual. He is in matter 
what Pythagoras was in mind ; and his transforma- 
tions are scarcely less curious than those of the Samian 
sage. The beau, by his pains, peruses once again his 
dicky or cravat, of a morning, in the " Magazin des 
Modes," whilst the politician has his breeches repro- 
duced in the " Journal des Debats ;" and many a fine lady 
pours out her soul upon a billet-doux that once was the 
dishclout. The chiffonnier stands at the head of the little 
trades, and is looked up to with envy by the others. He 
has two coats, and wears on holidays a chain and quiz- 
zing-glass, and washes his hands with pate d , ama?id. 
He rises, too, like the Paris gentry, when the chickens 



THE GRATTEUR. 63 

roost, and when the lark cheers the morning, goes to bed. 
All the city is divided into districts and let out to these 
ehiffonniers by the hour ; to one from ten to eleven, and 
from eleven to twelve to another, and so on through the 
night; so that several get a living and consideration from 
the same district. This individual does justice to the 
literary compositions of the day ; he crams into his chif- 
fonnerie indiscriminately the last Vaudeville, the last 
sermon of the Archbishop, and the last eloge of the Aca- 
demy. 

Just below him is the Gratteur. This artist scratches 
the live long day between the stones of the pavement 
for old nails from horses' shoes and other bits of iron — 
always in hopes of a bit of silver, and even, perhaps, a bit 
of gold; more happy in his hope than a hundred others 
in the possession. He has a store in the Faubourgs, 
where he deposits his ferruginous treasure ; his wife 
keeps this store, and is a " Marchande de Fer." He main- 
tains a family like another man ; one or two of his sons 
he brings up to scratch for a living, and the other he 
sends to a college ; and he has a lot " in perpetuity," in 
Pere la Chaise. His rank is, however, inferior to the 
Chiffonnier, who will not give him his daughter in mar- 
riage, and he don't ask him to his soirees. 

In all places of much resort, you will see an indivi- 
dual, broad shouldered, and whiskered, looking very affa- 
ble and officious, especially upon strangers, mostly about 
grocer-stores, and street corners. Let me introduce you 
to him, also. He wants to carry your letters, and run 
errands for you from one end of Paris to the other. He 
will carry also your wood to your room, a billet-doux to 
your mistress, and your boots to the cobbler's, and, for 
a modest compensation, perform any service that one 
person may require of another — also, as you see, a very 
important individual, Indeed, he holds amongst men 



64 THE COMMISSIONAIRE. 

nearly the same place that Mercury holds amongst the 
gods. About his neck he wears a brass medal, polished 
bright as honor ; at once his badge of office, and pledge of 
fidelity. If you seem to doubt his honesty^ he points to 
his medal, and holds up his head; that's enough. — If 
only the Peers could point to their decorations with the 
same confidence ! If you walk out in the bright day, 
not being a Parisian, you are of course overtaken by 
the rain: for a Paris sunshine and shower are as close 
together. as a babe's smiles and tears : and then you just 
step into a " Cabinet de lecture," and you have not read 
the half worth of your sou, when your coat has em- 
braced you, and your umbrella is between you and the 
merciless Heavens. — This is the commissionnaire. I 
should have noticed among the little industries the 
" Broker of theatrical pleasures ;" he sells the pass of A, 
who retires early, to B, who goes in late ; and the Clac- 
queiir, who, for two or three francs a night, applauds or 
hisses the new plays. But we must get on with our 
journey. 

Here on the Boulevard Poissonnilre, or near it, re- 
sides Mr. of New Jersey ; he has been sent over 

(hapless errand !) to convert these French people to 
Christianity. He is a very clever man, and we will ask 
if he is yet alive; the journals of this morning say three 
or four missionaries have been eaten up by the Sumatras. 

This is the famous Arch of Triumph of the Porte St. 
Denis. It compliments Louis XIV. on his passage of 
the Rhine in 1672, and is the counterpart of the Napo- 
leon Arch at the Barriere de l'Etoile. It is seventy-two 
feet high, and has at each side an obelisk supported by 
a lion, and decorated with trophies. That fat Dutch 
woman at the left base stands for Holland, and that 
vigorous, muscular-looking man on the right is deputy 



BOULEVARD DU TEMPLE. 65 

to the Rhine ; and that overhead on horseback is great 
"baby Louis." 

We have now left the fashionable world at our heels 
—this is the Boulevard du Temple. This Boulevard, a 
few years ago, was a delightful and romantic walk of an 
evening. But noise and business have now violated all 
the secret retreats, one after another, of Paris, and there 
is no spot left of the great capital, in which you can hear 
your own voice. There were here, before the Revolution, 
five theatres, and the lists of fame are crowded with the 
theatrical celebrities which drew the homage of the whole 
city to this street. This is the only spot in the world that 
has furnished clowns for posterity ; Baron and Lekain 
are hardly more fresh in the memory of man than Gali- 
mafre and Bobeche. This was the theatre of their 
triumphs. It was here, too, that the world came to see 
a living skeleton of eight pounds, and his wife of eight 
hundred; that men, to the great astonishment of our an- 
cestors, swallowed carving knives, and boiling oil, that 
turkeys danced quadrilles, and fleas drove their coaches 
and six ; and it was here that Mademoiselle Rose stood 
on her head on a candlestick. There are yet six theatres 
here, but the street, once so adorned with gardens and 
equipages and fashionable ladies, and an infinity of other 
attractions, is bow, alas ! built up with gaunt houses, and 
differs scarcely from the other Boulevard. 

The simplicity of original manners is, however, won- 
derfully preserved in this district. The more fashionable 
parts are so filled with strangers— with parasite plants, 
that you can scarcely distinguish the indigenous popula- 
tion. This is the true classical and traditional district ; the 
only place you can find unadulterated Frenchmen. The 
inhabitant of this quarter has rather more than a French 
share of embonpoint, and aims at dignity, and his whis- 

6* 



66 UNADULTERATED FRENCHMEN. 

kers leave a part of his chin uncovered ; his clothes are 
large and fine in texture; he carries an umbrella, and on 
fete days, a cane to give him an important air, and keep 
off the dogs, if it rains, he takes a fiacre ; he keeps by 
him his certificate of marriage and "extrait de bateme," 
and has not got over the prejudice of being born in law- 
ful wedlock. His wife is pretty, but not handsome ; her 
features are regular and face plump; indeed she is plump 
all over. He loves this wife by instinct ; she keeps his 
books, and he asks her advice in all his business ; she 
suckles his children and gives him tisane when he is sick. 
I saw this individual and his wife together a few 
evenings ago at the Ambigu Cdraique. I sometimes go 
to this theatre and the Gaite and the Cirque Olimpique. 
A vicious student was tempted every now and then to 
pinch Madame behind. She bore it impatiently, indeed, 
but silently for some time. " Qu'est-ce que tu as ? — 
Qu'astu done, ma femme?" At last she communi- 
cated to her husband the fact. He immediately grew a 
foot taller upon his seat ; and then he looked at the young 
man from head to foot with one of those looks which 
mean so much more than words. Not wishing, how- 
ever, to disturb the play, he contained himself, only rig- 
gling on his seat, and eyeing him occasionally, to the 
end of the act, and then he got up. " Quoi, monsieur" 
said he, "vons avez V impertinence de pincer lesfesses de 
Madame ?" and then thrusting his tongue into the lower 
lip, he put on an expression such as you will never meet 
outside the Boulevard du Temple. You would go a mile 
any time barefooted to see it. " I would have you to 
know, sir, that I am a rentier, (a freeholder,) quejepaye 
rente h la ville de Paris ; that I am called Grigou, mon- 
sieur ; and that I live in the Rue d' Angouleme, No. 22 :" 
and he sat down. The little wife now tried to appease 



MARKET FOJR FRIPPERY. 67 

him, which made him the more pugnacious; she remind- 
ed him he was a father of a family, had children, and 
finally that he had a wife ; and then she sat close up by 
him, and then she came over to the other side, just front 
of me, for security. — The bourgeois of this district lives 
in a larger house than he could get for the same rent in 
any other part of Paris ; he is usually independent in his 
circumstances, and has a certain ct plomb, or confidence 
in himself, and a liberty in all his movements, which 
give a full relief to his natural feelings, and traits of cha- 
racter. 

Some distance towards the right you will find the great 
market of frippery — one of the curiosities of this district. 
Every old thing upon the earth is sold there for new. 
There are 1800 shops. Nothing ever was so restored 
from raggedness to apparent green youth and integrity 
as an old coat in the hands of these Israelites, unless it be 
the conscience of those who sell. A garment that has 
served at least two generations, and been worn last by 
a beggar, you will buy in this market for new in spite 
of your teeth. It is a good study of human nature to 
see here how far the human face may be modified by 
its pursuits and meditations. 

This building in the Rue du Temple, with superb 
portico, and Ionic columns, and two colossal statues in 
front, is one of great historical importance; and ladies 
who love knights would not pardon me for passing it 
unnoticed. The ancient edifice was built seven hundred 
years ago, and was occupied by one of the most power- 
ful orders of Christianity — the Knights Templars. Here 
it was that Philip le Bel tortured and burnt alive these 
soldier monks; seizing their treasures, and bestowing 
their other possessions upon his new favorites, the 
Knights of Malta. Who has not heard of the war-cry 



68 KNIGHTS TEMPLARS. 

of Beanceant, which chilled the blood of the Saracens 
on the plains of Syria, and has since made many a 
woman tremble in her slippers at midnight. This was 
his lodging. Lord ! how wide you open your eyes ! 
Yes, here lodged the Knights of the Red Cross ; and 
Richard Coeur de Lion used to put up in this temple in 
going to the Holy Land. It became national property 
in the Revolution, and was given at the Restoration 
(1814) to the Princesse de Conde, who established the 
present « Convent of the Temple." The ladies who 
now occupy it are called the Dames Benedictines, and, 
like the other nuns, of whom there are at present more 
than twenty orders in France, they devote themselves 
to education and other benevolent employments. It 
was in this old building that Louis XVI. and his queen 
were imprisoned in 1792. The king was taken out 
from here the 20th of January, 1793, to the scaffold, 
the queen about eleven months after, and Madame 
Elizabeth, his sister, in the following year, leaving his 
daughter here alone at thirteen years of age. Sir Syd- 
ney Smith was confined in the same room in 179S. 
Bonaparte, in 1811, demolished the old edifice to the 
last stone — from what motive? and in 1812, it was 
fenced round, and the grass grew upon the guilty place. 
The religious ladies who now reside here are purifying 
it by prayers and other acts of devotion. Apropos of 
Sydney Smith ; I met him at an evening party lately. 
He looks like the history of the last half century. He 
is a venerable old man, and very sociable with the 
young girls, who were climbing his knees, and hanging 
about his neck, and getting his name albummed in 
their little books to carry to America. 

I will now show you a house in this street, (Rue des 
Marais du Temple, No. 31,) a house that, once seen, 



MONSIEUR DE PARIS. 69 

will never depart from your memory. Its closed door 
and windows, as if no one lived there; its iron railing 
without entrance, and the interstices condemned with 
wood, in front ; and the slit in the centre of the door to 
receive the correspondence of its horrible master, who 
sits within as a spider in its web, you will see all the 
rest of your life. It is the house of Monsieur de Paris. 
Oh dear ! and who is Monsieur de Paris ? He is a civil 
magistrate, and belongs to the executive department. 
No one living is, perhaps, so great a terror to evil doers 
as this Monsieur de Paris. "Monsieur," you must 
recollect, has its particular, and its general meanings. 
Monsieur, means anybody; un monsieur, is a gentle- 
man of some breeding and education ; La maison de 
Monsieur, is the family of the king's eldest son ; Mon- 
sieur de Meaux, means the Archbishop, and Monsieur 
de Paris, means the Hangman ! He is also called the 
" Executeur de la haute justice" or " Executeur des 
hautes ceuvres," and vulgarly, the Boureau. This 
is his Hotel. The name of the present incumbent is 
Mr. Henry Sanson. His family consists of a son, a 
person of mild and gentle manners, who is now serving 
his apprenticeship to the business under his eminent 
parent; and two daughters. The elder, about fifteen, is 
remarkable for beauty and accomplishment. The father 
is rich ; his salary being above that of the President of 
the Royal Court, and he has spared no expense in the 
education of the girls. They will be sumptuously 
endowed. 

The two ends of society are affected sometimes in 
nearly the same way. A princess, being obliged to se- 
lect her husband from her own rank and religion, runs 
the hazard of a perpetual virginity ; and Mademoiselle 
de Paris experiences exactly the same inconvenience ; 



70 THE MARQUIS DE LALY. 

she can marry but a hangman. There is no one of all 
Europe, who has performed the same eminent functions 
as Mr. Henry Sanson, or to whom, without loss of dig- 
nity, he can offer the hand of his fair daughter. Ye 
lords and gentlemen, if you think you have all the pride 
to yourselves, you are mistaken ; the hangman has his 
share like another man. 

Mr. Sanson has appropriated one or two rooms of this 
building to a Museum of ancient instruments, used in 
judicial torture— Luke's iron bed, Ravaillac's boots, and 
such like relics ; and is quite a dilettante in this department 
of science. We expect a course of gratuitous lectures, 
as at the " Musee des Artset Metiers," when the season 
begins. Amongst other objects, you will see the sword 
with which was beheaded the Marquis de Laly. I am 
going to tell you an anecdote I have read of this too 
famous execution, which is curious. About the year 
I750,.in the middle of the night, three young men of the 
high class of nobility, after breaking windows, and the 
heads of street passengers, and beating the guard, (which 
was the privilege of the higher classes in those times,) 
strolling down the Faubourg St. Martin, laughing and 
talking, and well fuddled with champagne, arrived at 
the door of this house. They heard the sound of 
instruments, and music so lively seemed to indicate a 
hearty bourgeois dance. How fortunate ! they could 
now pass the night pleasantly. One of them knocked, 
and a polite well-dressed person opened. A young lord 
explained the motive of their visit, and was refused. 
" You are wrong," said the nobleman ; " we are of the • 
court, and do you honor in sharing your amusements." 
" I am obliged, nevertheless, to refuse," replied the 
stranger; " neither of you know the person you are ad- 
dressing, or you would be as anxious to withdraw, as 



THE CAFE TURC. 71 

now to be admitted." " Excellent, upon honor ! and 
who the devil are you?" — "The executioner of Paris." 
" Ha, ha, ha, what you ? you the gentleman who breaks 
limbs, cuts off heads, and tortures poor devils so agree- 
ably ?" " Such, indeed, are the duties of my office ; I 
leave, however, the details you speak of to my deputies, 
and it is only when a lord like either of you is subject to 
the penalties of the law, that I do execution on him with 
my own hands." The individual who held this dialogue 
with the executioner was the Marquis de Laly. Twen- 
ty years after he died by the hands of this man, upon 
whose office he was now exercising his raillery. 

One of the ornaments of this Boulevard is the Cafe 
Turc, fitted up with a furniture of two hundred thousand 
francs. It would do honor to the Italien. What a 
display of belles and beaux, about seven of an evening, 
through its spacious rooms, and gardens, and galleries ! 
— one lends his ear to the concert, another, retired in a 
grotto at the side of his bonnie amie, drinks large 
draughts of love, and another drinks eau sucree. 

And here is the largest elephant upon the earth, 
which bears the same relation to all other elephants 
that the Trajan horse did to all other horses. This mon- 
ster was to be cast in bronze, and surmounted by a 
tower, forming a figure of about eighty feet in height. 
That which you see here is only the model in plaster of 
Paris. The stairway leads up through one of the legs, 
six and a quarter feet in the ankle. There were to be 
twenty-four bas-reliefs in marble, representing the Arts 
and Sciences; and the bronze was to be obtained from 
the fusion of the cannon, captured by the imperial army 
in Spain. Louis Philippe, who is charged with the 
public works began by Bonaparte, will be puzzled to 
finish this elephant. 



72 THE FOUNTAINS. 

Paris contains one hundred and eighty-nine great 
fountains, of which about twenty are of beautiful 
architecture, adorned with sculpture and statuary, and 
enlivened by jets d'eaux, and form a principal ornament 
of the city. This elephant was intended to add one to 
the number. That so imposing and picturesque, which 
we just now passed on the Boulevard du Temple, is 
called the Chateau. The building with the jet on the 
top forms a cone. The water falls from its summit into 
vases, which overflow in cascades that tumble down 
from story to story into a large basin at the base, where 
eight lions of bronze spout torrents in jets d'eaux from 
their mouths. Its cost was one hundred thousand francs. 
It would be too long to particularize the others. On 
one you will see Leda caressing her swan, Cupid 
lurking on the watch ; on another Tantalus gaping 
in vain for the liquid, which passes by his lips into 
the pail of the waterman; on another, Hygeia giving 
drink to a fatigued soldier ; and on another, Charity 
suckling one of her children, wrapping another from the 
cold in the folds of her frock, and quenching the parched 
lips of a third with the pure stream. I have just bought 
you a clock representing the " Fountain of the Inno- 
cents," with all its waters in motion. It was the 
Duchess of Bern's, and is of delicate workmanship. 
Please have the proper respect to its dignity, and' indulg- 
ence for its frailty. I will send it by the next packet. 

The turning of wickets, the jingling of keys, and 
grating of bolts were the sounds heard here forty-six 
years ago. What recollections rise out of the ground 
to meet you at every step as you tread upon this un- 
hallowed spot. One hears almost the chains clank, and 
the prisoner groan in his cell ! It was here, where the 
charcoal now floats so peacefully on the lake, and where 



THE BASTILLE. 73 

the boatman sings his absent mistress so joyously, that 
stood, in horrid majesty — 

" With many a foul and midnight murder fed," 

the "high altar and castle of Despotism," the Bastille! 
Where are now the damp and secret cells, the sombre 
corridors, and the grim countenances of the jailers, and 
where the mob of '89, and the mad passions that leveled 
its towers and battlements? Quiet as the Seine that 
sleeps upon its dungeons! The present substitutes for 
the Bastille, are, the Depot at the 'Prefecture of Police ; 
St. Pelagie for state crimes, and La Force for civil ; the 
Conciergerie for those awaiting trial, and the Salpetriere 
for those awaiting the execution of their sentence. 

Bonaparte built, here an immense granary, containing 
always corn enough for the consumption of the capital 
for two months. This, with the Halle aux bleds in the 
centre of the city, supplies the whole population. Paris 
has six hundred bakers, who are obliged to keep always 
in this granary, one hundred thousand sacks of flour, 
worth thirty shillings sterling per sack ; and therefore it 
is called the Grenier de Reserve. Here lived the witty 
and profligate Beaumarchais ; his castle is rased ; all but 
Figaro are dead. You have in sight the Hospital of the 
Quinze-vingts, which contains three hundred blind, who 
have twenty-four sous a day each for a living, with the 
produce of their industry, which is wonderfully ingenious. 
Now we have passed the Garden of Plants, and the 
Bridge of Austerlitz. For this latter favor we owe 
something to the Russians, who saved this bridge from 
its bad name, and Blucher's gunpowder. 

That upon the hill is the Salpetriere, the Insane Hos- 
pital for women. What a huge pile ! One to put the 
sane ones in would not be half the size. This front on 
vol. i. — 7 



74 THE HOSPITAL FOR WIDOWERS. 

the Boulevard, is six hundred feet. The building in the 
rear is of similar dimensions, and the Rotonde between, 
with the octagon dome, is the chapel. It contains now 
four thousand five hundred poor aged above seventy ; 
one thousand five hundred crazy; all women. I went in 
on Sunday. What immense conversation ! There is a 
similar institution for the other sex called Bice/re. Paris 
has twenty hospitals, affording thirty thousand beds, and 
classed by the several diseases and infirmities. It has 
no poor-houses, but each of its twelve arondissements, or 
municipal divisions, has a " Bureau de Bienfesance," 
which distributes provisions to the indigent, and provides 
labor for the idle, and there is a plenty of benevolent 
societies with specific objects. Nor do they want cus- 
tomers, for the number of paupers is near fifty thousand. 
I forgot to tell you there is a hospital here (the Hospice 
des Menages), for widowers. What an object of charity 
is a man without a wife ! They have made, however, 
the terms hard ; one has to stay married twenty years to 
be a'dmitted. The institution is under the care of the 
Sisters of Charity. This of Val de Grace is for the mili- 
tary, and that of the Rue d'Enfer for the Foundlings ; 
not an unnatural association, but emblematic of the two 
chief concerns of the capital; killing off the people by 
war, and making up the loss by adultery. And this is 
the Rue St. Jacques, one of the classical streets of the 
city. The great rogues pay their last visit to this end of 
it, and the great men to the other : if you kill ten thou- 
sand of your fellow-creatures, you go to the Pantheon 
at the west end ; if one only, you come here to the Place 
St. Jacqiit s, now the seat of the Guillotine, and the 
public executions. — At length we are on the Boulevard 
du Mont Pamasse, at the end of our journey. Yet 
could you not get a drop of Helicon here, though pe- 



SMUGGLERS. 75 

rishing with thirst. All one can offer you is a little sour 
Burgundy, which is cheaper than inside the wall. This 
is the reason you see all this rabble, five hundred at a 
view, carousing and dancing in their sabots, drinking 
and caressing tour-a-tour, the necks of their bottles, and 
their belles; it is the reason why thousands are crowd- 
ing here to drink, who are not dry, and Paris is losing 
daily her sober reputation, and learning to get drunk 
like her neighbors. 

The bad system of the ports in France is transferred 
to all the petty towns. A couple of sergeants, musk- 
eted and whiskered, walk with grim dignity at each 
side of the gates. They stop and examine all vehicles, 
public and private, and all such persons as carry in pro- 
visions to the market ; forcing them to pay an octroi or 
duty to the city of Paris ; which prevent those rogues, the 
poor people, from getting a dinner untaxed. They even 
stop sometimes the foot passengers ; especially those no- 
torious smugglers, the women. If any one chance to be 
half gone, she is not allowed to go any farther, unless 
with the certificate of the parish priest, or some equally 
good authority. Quantities of lace and silks have passed 
in under such pretexts. The best commentary I know 
upon the wisdom of this policy, is the Boulevard du 
Mont Parnasse. 

When Paris was surrounded by this wall, the people 
murmured, and made a riot, and hung up several of the 
ringleaders, on those principles of law recently laid down 
by our chief justice Lynch. They entered suits too 
against the city — to put her in the Bastille ; but a com- 
promise ended the strife, and the wall was built. Here 
is a line from an old book relating to these times : 

"Les murs murant Paris rendent Paris murmurant." y 



76 THE PALAIS ROYAL. 

I could not think of descending from Parnassus without 
a line of poetry. 



LETTER IV. 

The Palais Royal— French courtesy — Rue Vivienne — Pleasures of 
walking in the streets — Cafes in the Palais Royal— Mille Colonnes 
— Very's— French dinners— Past history of the Palais Royal — 
Galerie d'Orleans— Gambling— The unhappy Colton— Hells of the 
Palais Royal — Prince Puckler Muskau — Lord Brougham — The 
king and queen. 

Paris, July, 1835. 

You wish to see the Palais Royal? Then you must 
step from the Boulevard Italien a quarter of a mile to 
the southwest. If you hate Philadelphia sameness and 
symmetry, you will be gratified here to your heart's con- 
tent. Iu Paris there are ten hundred and eighty streets, 
besides lanes and alleys, all recommending themselves 
by the most charming irregularities. That which you 
will now pass through — the " Rue Vivienne," is among 
the most bustling; it is a leading avenue, is alive with 
business, and has pretensions far above its capacity. I 
must tell you a word about the etiquette of these streets 
before you set out. 

If a lady meets a gentleman upon the little side-walk, 
which French courtesy calls a " trottoir" it is the lady 
always who trots into the mud. The French women 
seem used to this submission and yield to it instinctively; 
and indeed all who feel their weakness, as children and 



FRENCH COURTESY. 77 

old men, being subject to the same necessity, show the 
same resignation. Also, if a number of gentlemen are 
coteried, even across the broad walk of the Boulevards, 
the lady walks round not to incommode them ; and it is 
not expected of a French gentleman in a public place or 
vehicle, that he should give his seat to any one, of what- 
ever age, sex or condition, or that he should deviate 
from his straight line on the street for anvthing less 
than an omnibus. The French have been a polite peo- 
ple, and they continue to trade on the credit of their an- 
cestors. What is curious to observe, is the complaisance 
with which human nature follows a general example. 
A Russian wife, when the husband neglects to beat her 
for a month or two, is alarmed at his indifference, and I 
have remarked that the French women are the warmest 
defenders of this French incivility. 

Recollect that as soon as you will put your little foot 
upon this Rue Vivienne, fifty wagons, a wedding 
coach, and three funerals, with I don't know how many 
mallepostes, cabs, eoucous, and bell-eared diligences — 
all but the fiacres, with their gaunt and fieshless horses, 
which plead inability— will set themselves to run over 
you, without the smallest respect for your Greek nose, 
your inky brows, and black eyes. The danger is 
imminent, and it won't do to have your two feet in one 
sock. I have written home to your mother to have 
prayers performed in the churches for women's husbands 
sojourning in Paris. — And by escaping from one danger, 
you are sure to run full butt against another; Scylla and 
Charybdis, too, are so close together that the " prudent 
middle" is precisely the course that no prudent lady 
will think of pursuing. To make it worse, the natives 
will have not the least sympathy in your clangers; they 
have been used to get run over themselves, from time 

7* 



78 DANGERS OF THE STREETS. 

immemorial, and when we staring Yankees come over to 
see the " Tooleries and the Penny Royal/' they are not 
aware that any allowance is to be made for our igno- 
rance. Besides, the driver knows a stranger as far as 
he can see him, and takes aim accordingly; he gets 
twenty-five francs for his body at the Morgue. It is 
known that secret companies for " running over people," 
exist all over Paris, and that the drivers are the princi- 
pal jobbers. The truth is that it is reckoned amongst 
the natural deaths of the place, and two hundred and 
fifty are marked upon the bills of the last year. Under the 
old regime, when the nobility put out a greater train. of 
vehicles, and had a kind of monopoly of running over the 
common people, I have heard it was still worse. Then 
if any one walked about the streets unmashed for twen- 
ty years, he was entitled to the cross of St. Louis. I 
have escaped till now, but I set it down entirely to the 
efficacy of your innocent prayers, which have reversed the 
fates in my favor. 

Your best way is to watch and imitate the address 
of the native women. Here they are now, in front of 
my window, sprinkled over the whole street, in their 
white stockings and prunellas, and in the very filthiest 
of the French weather, without a spot to' their garters. 
The little things just pull up all the petticoats in the 
world more than half leg, and then tip-toe, they step 
from the convex surface of one paving stone to another, 
with a dexterity and grace that go to one's heart. 

A lady must expect, also, other embarrassments here, 
to which the delicate pusillanimity of the sex is but 
slightly exposed yet in our country — besides the cat and 
nine kittens that she must jump over, and the defunct 
lap-dogs that lie putrid in the gutters. The truth is, that 
these streets are very often (I say it with great respect 



PLEASURES OF WALKING. 79 

for Madame de Rambouillet) so in dishabille, they are 
not fit to be seen. A Parisian lady, therefore, (and she 
is to be imitated also in this,) when she ventures out a- 
foot, is sharp-sighted as a lynx, and blind as an owl ; she 
has eyes to see and not to see, like those bad Christians 
in the Testament, and she runs the gauntlet through the 
midst of all these slippery and perilous obstructions, in 
as careless a good humor as you upon the smooth trot- 
toirs of your Chestnut and Broadways. It is true the 
ladies of the haut ton do not much exercise their ambu- 
latory functions — their " vertu camitiante" — upon these 
unsavory promenades. 

A French gentleman, who has resided a week and a 
half at New York, (just long enough to know the man- 
ners and customs of a country,) told me this very morn- 
ing that you American ladies stare upon the streets at 
the gentlemen — he ventured to say, "even to im- 
modesty;' 7 and I have heard other foreigners make 
similar remarks, I presume without a proper attention 
to the peculiar circumstances of different countries.— 
On a Philadelphia street a lady can give herself up to 
her thoughts; her soul has the free use of its wings; she 
can get into a romance, or a reverie ; she can study her 
lesson, or read a love-letter, and she can stare at a 
French gentleman without the least apprehension of 
danger. Our streets are clean and decent, and are ex- 
cellent places of parade ; and gentlemen and ladies may 
go out expressly of fine evenings to stare at one another. 
Indeed, Chestnut Street is so trim and neat that some- 
times one is almost obliged, like Diogenes, to spit in 
somebody's face not to soil its prettiness. Not so in 
Paris. You are here quite at your ease in all such 
matters. A French lady, therefore, and very properly, 
sees no one on the street — not even her husband. To 



80 THE PALAIS ROYAL. 

get her to look at you, you are obliged to take hold of 
her, shake her, and turn her about three or four times ; 
but when once upon the Boulevard Italien of an even- 
ing, or upon the broad walk of the elegant Tuileries, 
when she has no longer need of her faculties of eyes and 
ears, and nose, too, to anticipate and obviate danger— 
ah, mafoi ! her diamond eyes are no more chary of their 
amorous glances, than the hazle and bugle eyes of 
Chestnut or Broadway of theirs. I tried to persuade 
this French gentleman, who is a baron, has a bel air 
and large mustaches, that this happened only to him ; I 
told him (and it is true, too) of others who could not get 
the dear little girls of New York to look at them suffi- 
ciently. But I must show you the Palais Royal. 

It is a third less than your Washington Square. Its 
trees are in two regular rows along each margin. In 
the centre is an enclosure, containing shrubbery and 
flowers; and also an Apollo and a Diana, in bronze, and 
a jet d'eau that separates in the air, and falls in a "fleur 
de lys" — the only emblem of royalty that deceived the 
Revolution and the Jacobins; and a lake, where the 
little fishes " wave their wings of gold." There is no 
access to vehicles, or street noise to disturb the quiet of 
this fairy retreat. It is in the centre, too, of the city, in 
the vicinity of all the other chief places of diversion ; 
and here all the world meets after dinner to take Coffee, 
to smoke, and concert measures for the rest of the even- 
ing. You will see them creeping in from the neigh- 
boring streets as yo% have seen the ants into a sugar- 
house. 

If you wish to know where is the centre of the earth, 
it is the Palais Royal. Ask a stranger, when he ar- 
rives, " whither will you go first ?" he will answer, " to 
the Palais Royal;" or ask a Frenchman, on the top of 



THE PALAIS ROYAL. 81 

Caucasus, " where shall I meet you again?" he will 
give you rendezvous at the Palais Royal; and no spot, 
they say, on the earth, has witnessed so many tender 
recognitions. Just do you ask Mademoiselle Celeste, at 
New York, " where did you get that superb robe de 
chambre?" and, I will lay you six to one, she will say, 
"at the Palais Royal." 

Let us sit down beneath these pretty elms. Those 
upper rooms, which you see so adorned with Ionic 
columns, with galleries, and vases, and little Virtues, 
and other ornaments in sculpture— those are not his 
majesty's apartments: not the salles des marechaux, 
nor the salle du trone, nor the chambre a coucher de la 
reine ; they are the cafes and restaurants of the Palais 
Royal. And those multitudes you see circulating about 
the galleries, and looking down from the windows — 
those are not the royal family, nor the garde du corps, 
nor the "hundred Swiss," nor the chambellans, the 
ecuyers, the aumoniers, the rnaitres de cerimonies, the 
introducteurs des ambassadeurs, nor the historiogra- 
phers, nor even the chavf-cire, or the capitaines des 
levrettes — they are the cooks, and the garfons, in their 
white aprons, of the cafes and restaurants; the only 
order that has suffered no loss of dignity or corruption 
of blood by the Revolution; the veritable noblesse of 
these times, the " cordons bleus" of the order of the 
gridiron. 

Louis Philippe, our citizen king, and proprietor of 
this garden, gets thirty-two thousand francs, annually, 
of sitting, out of these chairs. Sit you down. It being 
after dinner, I will treat you to a r'egal ; which is a 
cup of pure coffee, with a small glass of liqueur, eau de 
vie, or rum, or quirsh. You can take them separate or 
together; in the latter case, it is called "gloria-" or you 



82 THE CAFES AND RESTAURANTS. 

may put your cogniac into a cup, with a large lump of 
sugar in the middle, and set it on fire, to destroy the 
effects of the alcohol upon your nerves. See how the 
area of the garden is already covered with its smoking, 
drinking, and promenading community; and how the 
smoke, as if loth to quit us, still lingers, until the whole 
atmosphere is narcotic with its incense. At a later 
hour, we shall find in the rotunda, at the north end, and 
upon tables under these trees, ices in pyramids, and 
orgeat and eau sucree, and all the other luxurious 
refreshments. Those two oriental pavilions, with the 
gilded roofs, in front of the rotonde, will distribute news- 
papers to the studious, and the whole garden will buzz 
with conversation and merriment, until the long twilight 
has faded into night. 

Of the inside of the cafes and restaurants I must give 
you a few particulars. In each, there is a woman of 
choice beauty, mounted on a kind of throne. She is 
present always, and may be considered as one of the 
fixtures of the shop. When you enter any of these 
cafes, you will see, standing here and there through the 
rooms, an individual in a white apron ; he has mus- 
taches, he holds a coffee-pot in his left hand, and 
leaning gracefully over the right, reads his favorite 
journal — this is the waiter ! When you have cried three 
times " Gar con !" the lady at the bureau will vibrate 
a little bell, and bring you instantly this waiter from his 
studies. If you are a very decent-looking man, she will 
let you cry only twice ; and if you have an embroidered 
waistcoat, and look like a lord, and have whiskers, she 
will not let you cry at all. The chair occupied by this 
she secretary, at the Milk Colonnes, cost ten thousand 
francs; and she who sat, some years ago, upon that of 
the " cafe des Aveugles," the " belle Limonadiere," 



THE KITCHEN CABINET. 83 

charmed all who had eyes, and amongst the rest, a 
brother of the greatest emperor of the world. 

There are above a thousand of these cafes in Paris, 
and several of the most sumptuous, overlook the gar- 
dens of the Palais Royal. Ceres has unlocked her 
richest treasures here, and has poured them out with 
a prodigality that is unknown elsewhere. Fish of fresh, 
and of salt water; rare wines of home and foreign pro- 
duction ; and as for the confectionaries, sucreries, fruit- 
eries, charcuiteries, the senses are bewildered by the 
infinite variety. And the artists here have a higher 
niche in the temple of Fame, than even those of the 
Boulevard Italien. Monsieur Very supplied the allied 
monarchs, at three thousand francs per day. The " Pur- 
veyor of Fish," to his Majesty, who is of this school, 
is salaried a thousand dollars above our chief justice 
of the Union ; and Monsieur Dodat, who is immortal 
for making sausages and the " Passage Vero-Dodat," 
has at Pere la Chaise a monument towering like that 
of Cheops. This is the true " Kitchen Cabinet," to 
which ours is no more to be compared than the dish 
water to the dinner. Very is in the kitchen, what the 
Emperor was in the camp; he is the Napoleon of gas- 
tronomy. All flesh is nothing in his sight. Why, he 
will transform you a rabbit to a hare, or an eel to a 
lamprey, as easily as you a Jackson-man to a Whig; 
and he turns cocks into capons, and vice versa, by the 
simple artifice of a sauce. You, indeed, condense the 
sense of a whole community into a single head of a 
senator, or a President; and he just as easily a whole 
flock of geese into a single goose. You, it is true, pos- 
sess the wonderful art, all know in what excellence, 
of puffing a man up beyond the natural measure of his 
merits, and just so Monsieur Very will puff you a 



84 THE BILL OF FARE. 

goose's liver, however unmathematical it may seem, 
beyond the size of the whole goose. 

Now in the midst of all this skill and profusion, " the 
devil's in it if you cannot dine ;" yet have I perished 
myself several times of hunger in the very midst of this 
Palais Royal. It is not enough that a table be loaded 
with its dishes, there must be science to call them by 
their names, and taste to discriminate their uses. What 
can you do with an Iroquois from the "Sharp Mountain," 
who does not know that sauce for a gander is not sauce 
for a goose. Unless you have studied the nomenclature, 
which is about equal to a first course of anatomy, you 
are no more fit to enjoy a dinner at Very's than Tantalus 
in his lake. For example, the garcon will present you 
a bill of fare as big as your prayer-book ; you open it ; the 
first page presents you thirty soups, (classically potages,) 
and there you are to choose between a "pare" a 
" consomme" " a la Julien, a la Beauvais, h la Bonne 
Femme" &c. &c. I prefer the " consomme," and I will 
tell you how it is made. It is a piece of choice beef 
and capon boiled many hours over a slow fire to a jelly, 
and the juices concentrated and served without any 
extraneous mixture. The " Julien" is a pot ponrri 
of all that is edible or potable in the list of human 
aliments. It is a soup for which, if rightly made, an 
epicure would give away his birthright : it was in- 
vented, not by Julian the Apostate, but by Monsieur 
Julien of the Palais Royal. The fluids being settled, you 
will turn then to the following page for the solids: 
" Papilloltes de Levreaad" "filet a la Neapolitaine" 
" vol-au-vent" " scolope de saiimon," " ceufaii miroir" 
" viz saatSa la glace" " pique 1 aux truffles" &c. &c. 
Alas, my poor roasting, and frying countrymen ! There 
is not a day but I see some poor Yankee scratching his 



THE MILLE COLONNES. S5 

head in despair over this crabbed vocabulary of French 
dishes. Your best way in this emergency is to call the 
gargon ; and leave all to him, and sit still like a good 
child, and take what is given to you. I have known 
many a one to run all over Paris for a beaf-steak, and 
when he has got it, it was a horse's rump. My advice 
is that no one come to Paris to dine in mean houses on 
cheap dinners ; to eat cats for hares, and have snails 
and chalk for his cream. You are no more sure of the 
ingredients of a dish under the disguises of a French 
cookery, than of men's sentiments from their faces or 
professions. You can get, to begin with, olives, and 
eggs boiled, and poached ; all that remains of old sim- 
plicity ; if you know how to ask for them ; if not, carry 
the shells about with you in your pocket. 

We will dine to-morrow at the " Mllle Colonnes." 
Ladies often step into this cafe to be reflected ; you can 
see here all your faces, and behind and before you, as 
conveniently as Janus. One always enters this thres- 
hold with reverence. It has dined the Holy Alliance. 
Besides the usual officers and attendants, you will 
sometimes see here a little man, grave, distrait and 
meditative; do not disturb him; he is, perhaps, busy 
about the projet of some new sauce. He will often 
start abruptly, and leave you in a phrase ; it is not in- 
civility ; he has just conceived a dish, and is going out 
to execute it, or write it upon his tablets. You must 
not expect to see him before one; for no one is allowed 
to intrude upon the freshness of his morning studies. 
" Where is your master ?" said a person lately, inquiring 
of the waiter, who replied, with the air of one feeling the 
importance of his functions, " Monsieur, il rfest pas 
visible; il comjwse." The French are not copyists in 
cookery, no more than in fashions. They are invent- 
vol. i. — 8 



86 RULES FOR DINING. 

ors, and this keeps the imagination on the rack. Yon 
will remark that people always excel in those things 
which they invent, and are always mediocre in those 
things which they imitate. After your potage, which 
yon must eat sparingly, and without bread, (for bread 
will satiate, and spoil the rest of your dinner,) you will 
take a little " vin ordinaire," or pure burgundy, waiting 
for your first course ; and you will just cast a look over 
the official part of the Moniteur, for there is no knowing 
when one may be made a peer of France ; and on re- 
ceiving one dish, always command the next. After the 
dessert you will read the news all around ; the Messager, 
Gazette, Constilutionnel, Debuts, Quotidienne, Na- 
tional and the Charivari ; and after coffee you may 
amuse yourself at checkers; improve your intellects at 
domino, or your morals by a game of chess. In looking 
about the room, you will see a great number of guests, 
perhaps a hundred, not in stalls, as in our eating-houses, 
and the stables, but seated at white marble tables, in an 
open and elegant saloon, the wall tapestried with mir- 
rors. If it be a serious gentleman reading deliberately 
the newspaper over his dessert, careless or contemptuous 
of what is going on around him, and drinking his bottle 
of champagne alone, that is an Englishman. If a 
Parlie carre, that is, a couple of ladies and their cava- 
liers, dining with much noise and claret, observing a 
succession and analogy of dishes, swallowing their wine 
drop by drop, as I read your letters, fearing lest it 
should come too soon to an end ; and prolonging ex- 
pressly the enjoyments of the repast; these are French 
people; or if you see a couple of lads, hurried and impa- 
tient, and rating the waiters in no gentle terms : " D n 

your eyes, why don't you bring in the dinner? and take 
away that broth ; and your black bottle: who the devil 



STORES OF JEWELRY. 87 

wants your vinegar, and your dishwater, and your bibs 
too? And bring us, if you can, a whole chicken's leg at 
once, and not at seven different times," — these are from 
the " Far West," and a week old in Paris. How should 
these little snacks of a French table not seem egre 
giously mean to an American, who is used to dine in 
fifteen minutes, even on a holiday, and to see a whole 
hog barbecued ? The French dine to gratify, we to 
appease appetite: we demolish a dinner; they eat it. 
The guests who frequent these cafes are regular or 
flying visitors; some are accidental, others occasional, 
dining by. agreement to enjoy each other's company; 
others again are families who dine out for a change, or 
to give a respite to their servants : and others live here, 
a kind of stereotype customers, altogether ; and these 
houses serve, in addition to their province of eating and 
drinking, as places of conference or clubs ; it is here that 
men communicate on political subjects ; that news is 
circulated; and public opinion formed; and that kings 
are expelled, and others are set up on their thrones. 

On a range with the restaurants, and over them, you 
will see lodged many of the fine arts; painters, engrav- 
ers, dentists, barbers; and beautiful sultanas look out 
from the highest windows upon these fair dominions, 
to which the severity of French morals has forbidden 
them access. In the lower rooms, on a level with the 
area of the garden, and peeping through the colonnade, 
west and east, are riches almost immeasurable, in ex- 
quisite and fashionable apparel for both sexes, and in 
jewelry, trinkets and perfumery. This trade, which in 
other cities is peddling and huckstering, assumes here 
the dignity of a great commercial interest, and its pro- 
ductions are reckoned at upwards of a hundred millions 
of francs. The stores themselves are so little, and yet 



88 WORKS OF ART. 

so pretty, that I have thoughts of sending you one of 
them over by the packet. Their arrangements are 
changed every hour, so as to keep up a continuous 
emotion, and a series of agreeable excitements, and so 
as to present you a new set of temptations twelve times 
a day. Everything that human industry, sharpened 
by necessity, or competition can effect; everything 
which can excite an appetite, can heighten a beauty, or 
hide a deformity, is here— I begin to love art almost as 
well as nature; I begin to love mother Eve in her 
fig leaves, as well as in her unaproned innocence. 
After all what is nature to us without art? Education 
is art. Indeed, rightly considered, art itself is nature; 
she has but "left a part of her work unfinished to urge 
the industry and whet the ingenuity of man. In these 
stores, everything is sacrificed to the shop ; there is no 
accommodation for the household gods. Persons with 
their families — indeed, I have heard that even persons 
in the family way, are not allowed to inhabit here. A 
man hoards space, as a miser hoards money. It is a 
qualification indispensable in a clerk, to be of a slender 
capacity. You would think you were in Liiliput, served 
by the fairies. The shop-girls, especially, are of such 
exquisite exility of figure, you can almost take one of 
them between your thumb and finger, and set her on 
the counter. 

In our country, we have nothing yet to show in the 
way of great works of art. We have nature, indeed 
wild and beautiful, but without historic associations; 
tradition is dumb, and the " memory of man" runs back 
to the Eden of our race. It is a mighty advantage these 
old countries have over us; their reminiscences, their 
traditions, and their antiquities. What would be the 
Tower, but for hump-back Richard and the babes? or, 



THE CARDINAL DE RICHELIEU. 89 

what Hounslow Heath, but for the ghosls of those who 
have been murdered there? and in these countries, 
which have no beginning, they can supply the vacant 
space into which authentic history does not venture, by 
legends and romances ; and no matter how obscure may 
be one of their mountains and lakes, they can lie it into 
a reputation. Some things are beautiful from their 
accessories alone ; as lords are sometimes lords only from 
their equipages.— What is there beautiful in a ruin? 
We have plains as desolate as Babylon, and no one 
looks at them. 

The Palais Royal, however magnificent as a bazaar, 
has still higher and better merits. It is the history of 
some of the most remarkable personages and events of 
the last two ages. Some day when we have a ticket 
from the " Intendant de sa Majeste," I will show you 
them all ; and first, that very celebrated old fop the Car- 
dinal de Richelieu, who used to strut, with his train of 
a monarch, through this very garden, and these very 
halls. You shall see the very theatre upon which he 
represented his woful tragedies ; his flatterers crowding 
around with wonderful grimace, and Corneille's Muse 
cowering her timid wings in silence. As you are a 
lady and love trinkets, I will show you, if it yet exists, 
that great miracle of massive gold and diamonds, the 
Cardinal's Chapel; the two candlesticks valued at a 
hundred thousand livres ; the cross, twenty-two inches 
high, and of pure gold ; the Christ of the same metal, 
and the crown and drapery all glittering in diamonds. 
And you shall see the prayer-book, too, encased in 
laminae of gold ; in the centre, the cardinal holding up 
the globe; and from the four corners, four angels 
placing a crown upon his head. If you like, 1 will show 
you, also, that other smooth-faced rogue, scarcely his 

8* 



90 THE CARDINAL'S CHAPEL. 

inferior in political ability, the Cardinal Mazarin, who 
put the king's money in his pocket, and stinted his little 
majesty in shirts. And if you love more Cardinals, I will 
show yon yet another, more witty, and not less profli- 
gate and debauched than the other two, the Cardinal de 
Retz. When we read his memoirs together, little did 
we foresee that, one day, we should look into the very 
chambers in which he held his nightly councils, with 
his fellow conspirators, plotting his rabble Revolution 
of the Fronde. You shall see also Turenne and the 
great Conde. That gentleman gathering maxims — 
maxims of life, at the court of Mazarin!— that is M. le 
due de Rochefaucauld : and I will introduce you to 
Madame de Motteville, and other famous wits and 
beauties of those times. In the room just opposite, 
where one dines upon soup, three courses and a dessert, 
at forty sous, I will show you the little " Grand Mo- 
narque" in his cradle. The dear little thing ! It was 
here the great man first began ; it was here he crept, 
I presume very unwillingly, to school ; here he began to 
seek the bubble reputation, and to sigh at the feet 
(worthy a better devotion) of the " humble violet," 
Madame la Valliere. Just over head, used to sup, with 
the Duke of Orleans and his family, Doctor Franklin; 
and here Madame de Genlis gave lessons to the little 
Louis Philippe, causing his most Christian Majesty to 
walk fifteen miles a day, in shoes with leaden soles. 
The Spartans did better, who, to make their kings hardy 
and robust, had them flogged daily at the shrine of 
some pagan goddess. In one of these rooms, the mob 
Republic held, for awhile, its meetings ; and in this very 
garden, the tri-colored cockade was adopted, at a great 
meeting in ? 89, as the Revolutionary emblem. On the 
south end, is a gallery of paintings, they say, very 



THE GARDENS. 91 

splendid. It was plundered in the Revolution, and 
since restored by the present proprietor, the king. If 
any one steals a picture or a book in Paris, and can 
prove quiet possession for a certain time, it is a vested 
right, and the owner is obliged to buy back his goods 
from the thief. 

I sometimes walk in this garden with the scholars 
and the bonnes, of a morning, but it is disagreeable ; it 
is not yet aired, and has a stale stupefactive smell from 
the preceding night's banquet. It is by degrees venti- 
lated and life begins to flow into it about ten. Then 
the readers of news begin to gravitate around Monsieur 
Perussault's pavilion. There is a dial here which 
announces, with a loud detonation, twelve ; and as the 
important hour approaches, every one having a watch 
takes it out, and looks up with compressed lips, and. 
waits in uno oblutu until Apollo has fired off his can- 
non ; then quick he twirls about the hands, and replaces 
it complacently in his fob, and walks away very happy 
to have the official hour in his pocket. You will see, 
also, a few badeaux, who always arrive just afterwards, 
and stand the same way looking up for half an hour or 
so, till informed that the time has already gone off. 

It is of a hot summer evening that this garden is 
unrivaled in beauty. You swim in a glare of light; the 
gas flashes from under the arcades; lamps innumerable 
shine through the interior, and look down from five 
hundred windows above. It is not night, it is "but t*he 
daylight sick." It is haunted by its company, and is 
full of life to the latest hours, and revelry holds her 
gambols here, when Paris everywhere over the im- 
mense city is lulled into its midnight slumbers. When 
summer has turned round upon its axis and the first 
chills of autumn frighten joy from her court, she retires 



92 GAMBLING HOUSES. 

then to her last hold, the " Galerie d' Orleans " This 
delightful promenade extends across the south end of 
the garden ; it is three hundred feet long by thirty wide ; 
its roof is of glass and its pavement of tesselated marble ; 
it is bounded on both sides by stores and cafes, and 
reading-rooms, eighteen feet square ; renting annually 
at four thousand francs each. It is kept warm enough 
for its company in winter and is a fashionable resort 
during that season. It is a pleasant walk, also, in the 
twilight of a summer evening. I know an ex-professor, 
by dining with him at the same ordinary, and we walk 
ofteli under the crystal vaults of this gallery, and reason 
whole evenings away— now we stop, and then walk on, 
and then take snuff, and then make a whole round arm 
in arm, in great gravity and silence ; at other times 
being seated at a marble table, we calmly unfold the 
intricate mazes of the human mind and systems of 
human policy; and then we take coffee, with a little 
glass of quirsh. Last night we reasoned warmly upon 
the nature of slavery till I got mad, and while I sipped 
and read the newspaper, he amused himself with a 
drawing, (for he is skilled in this art,) which he presented 
me. It was a Liberty, of a healthy and robust com- 
plexion, her foot upon a negro slave. The negro 
sympathies have waxed very warm in this country. 

Four of the houses just over us are consecrated to 
gambling. They are frequented, however, by rather 
the lower class and rabble of the profession. They who 
have some regard to reputation go to Frascati's, to the 
Rue Richelieu; the more select to the " Cercle," or to 
the " Club Anglais" upon the Boulevard and the Rue 
de Grammont ; and the " Jockey Club" receives the 
dandies and flash gentlemen of the turf. The three last 
are of English origin, and the " Club Anglais" is in the 



PUBLIC GAMING HOUSES. 93 

best English style. It receives only the high function- 
aries of the state, princes of the blood, ambassadors and 
other eminent persons, and even these are not admitted 
to pick one another's pockets here unless known to be 
of good moral character. Games of hazard are prohi- 
bited, and the bets correspondent to the dignity of the 
company. The " Cercle," also, is frequented by the 
upper sort of folk; it is ires distingue; and the eating 
and service are of no common rate. The public gam- 
bling houses here are authorized by government, and 
pay for their charter annually six and a half millions of 
francs. The government has not thought it fit that the 
blacklegs and courtesans should worship in the same 
temple. The ladies have therefore been turned out, 
poor things ! to get a living as they can on the Boule- 
vards and elsewhere, and the gamblers have the Pa- 
lais Royal all to themselves. But why do not "the 
Chambers" extend this system of financial economy 
to other moral offences, as stealing, drunkenness, and 
adultery? I would charter them every one, and enrich 
the state. If we can succeed in making a vice respecta- 
ble, it is no vice at all; and why should not a proper 
protection of government and general custom render 
gambling or any vice as respectable as thieving or 
infanticide was at Sparta, or as duelling and privateer- 
ing are amongst the modern civilized nations? The 
matter is now under discussion, but there are members 
of both houses who oppose these doctrines ; they say 
that the government, by such license, becomes accessory 
to the crimes of its subjects, and that bad passions, 
already rank enough in human nature, should not be 
made a direct object of education ; moreover, they find 
it awkward that legislators, after having given the whole 
community a public license to pick one another's pock- 



94 THE REV. C. COLTON. 

ets, should stand up in the national tribune and talk 
about honesty. — There are persons who have absurd 
prejudices. 

But to be serious ; indeed, I am very weir disposed 
to such a feeling; I have just fallen accidentally upon 
the story, which every one knows, of the unhappy 
Colton. He wrote books in recommendation of virtue, 
and critiques in reprobation of vice, with admirable 
talent. He was a clergyman by profession, and yet 
became a victim to this detestable passion. He sub- 
sisted by play several years amongst these dens of the 
Palais Royal, and at length falling into irretrievable 
misery, ended his life here by suicide. One feels a 
sadness of heart in looking upon the scene of so horrible 
an occurrence ; one owes a tear to the errors of genius ; 
to the weakness of our common humanity. 

Gambling seems to be the universal passion ; the two 
extremes of human society are equally subject to it. 
The savage of Columbia river gambles his rifle, and his 
squaw, and like any gentleman of the " Cercle," commits 
suicide in his despair. Billiards, cards, Pharo and 
other games of hazard, are to be found at every hundred 
steps, in every street and alley of Paris; haunted by 
blacklegs in waiting for your purse ; and there is scarce 
a private ball or soiree, even to those of the court, in 
which immense sums are not lost and won, by gambling. 
The shuffling of cards or rattling of dice is a part of the 
music of every Parisian saloon, and many fathers of 
families of the first rank get a living by it. To know 
how much better it is in London, one has only to read the 
London books. And how much better is it in America? 
To know this, you have only to visit our Virginia 
Springs and other places of fashionable resort. You 
will hear there the instruments of gambling at every 



HELLS OF THE PALAIS ROYAL. 95 

hour of the night; and you will see tables, covered with 
the infamous gold, set out in the shade during the day ; 
and you will see seated around these tables those who 
make the laws for "the only Republic upon the earth," 
the members of the American Congress — with the same 
solemn gravity as if holding counsel upon the destinies 
of the nation. I have seen the highest officer of the 
House of Representatives step from the loo-table to the 
Speaker's chair! The vices of the higher orders have 
this to aggravate their enormity, that the lower world 
is formed and encouraged by their example. Gambling 
in Virginia is a penitentiary offence. 

I have visited these " Hells" of the Palais Royal. 
Their numbers are 113, 129, and 154 on the eastern 
gallery, and number 36, on the western ; and from the 
looks of the company, I presume one could get here 
very soon all the acquirements by which a man may be 
put in the way of being hanged. Bars are placed 
before the windows by the humanity of the government, 
to prevent his Majesty's subjects and others from throw- 
ing away their precious lives in their fits of despair. 

That tall and robust, and stern-looking man between 
fifty and sixty, in an old tattered great coat, and walk- 
ing in the gait of a conspirator, is Chodruc Ducios. He 
was once the friend of Count Peyronnet as they say : he 
lavished his fortune on him, and fought his duels. The 
Count became minister and Ducios poor ; he claimed his 
protection, and was rejected by the ungrateful minister. 
He now walks here daily at the same hour, like some 
mysterious, unearthly being. He never speaks ; and 
the last smile has died upon his lips. 

I have a mind to tell you a queer anecdote of myself, 
which will fill the rest of this page without much chang- 
ing the subject. In a walk through the Rue Richelieu 



96 PEEP INTO A FASHIONABLE SALOON. 

a few evenings ago with a wag of an Englishman, a 
fellow-lodger, he proposed to gratify me with a peep 
into one of the evening rendezvous, as he said, of the 
nobility. I entered with becoming reverence through a 
hall, where servants in livery attended taking our hats 
and canes, with a princely ceremony, and bringing us 
refreshments. Tables in the several rooms were covered 
with gold, at which gentlemen and ladies were playing, 
and others were looking on intently and silently. Around 
about, some were coteried in corners, others were stroll- 
ing in groups or pairs through the rooms ; and others 
again were rambling carelessly through the walks of 
an adjacent garden of flowers and shrubbery, illumi- 
nated, or were seated in secret conversation amongst 
its arbors. 

" That gentleman," said my companion, " on the 
right, with the Adonis neck, with myrrhed and glossy 
ringlets, is the Prince Puckler Muskau." And when 
I had looked at him sufficiently, " That gentleman on 
the left, in conversation with Don — Don — Don — I forget 
his name — that is Prince Carrimanico, of Rome; and 
that just in front is the Baron Blowminossoff, from 
Petersburg." I stared particularly at my Lord Brough- 
am, who had just come over to make a tour upon the 
continent for his health. He was attenuated by sickness 
and the cares of business, but I could discern distinctly 
the great traits of his character — the lowering indigna- 
tion on his brow, the bitter curl and sarcasm on his lip, 
and the impetuous and overwhelming energy which 
distinguish this great statesman, upon his strongly 
marked features ; and if I had not been informed of his 
name, I should have marked him out at once as some 
eminent personage; and from a certain abrupt and 
fidgety manner, "a hasty scratch at the back of his 



LADIES AT FRASCATl's. 97 

head, accompanied with two or three twitches of the 
nose/' I should have suspected him for nobody else 
than the greatest statesman and orator of Europe, my 
Lord Brougham. Among the ladies, also, several were 
highly distinguished. There were Madame la Con- 
tesse de Trotteville, and her beautiful cousin Mademoi- 
selle Trottini, from Naples, with several of the French 
nobility • and there was the Countess of Crumple, and a 
fat lady Madam Von Swellemburg, and others of the 
Dutch and English gentry. I fancied that a duchess 
on my left (I forget her name) had a haughty and 
supercilious air, as if she felt the dignity of her blood, 
and the length of her genealogy. She seemed as if not 
pleased that everybody should be introduced, and 
wished some place more exclusive. But there was one 
young and beautiful creature — but so beautiful that I 
could not with all my efforts keep my eyes off her — 
who, I observed, more than once reciprocated my inqui- 
sitive looks. I felt flattered at being the object of her 
attention. The elegant creature! thought I; what a 
simplicity and sweetness of expression ! and how strange, 
that, brought up amidst the art and refinement of a 
court, she should retain all the innocence of the dove 
upon her countenance. In the midst of this admira- 
tion, and when I had just got myself almost bowed to 
by another countess, my companion let in the light 
upon the magic lantern. "These," said he, "are 
women of the town, and these are gamblers and pick- 
pockets, who come hither to Monsieur Frascati's to rob 
and ruin one another." I give you this for your pri- 
vate ear ; if you tell it, mercy on me, I shall never hear 
the last of it. I shall be sung all over the village. 
There are persons there, of half my years, who would 
have detected such company at once. As I was going 
vol. i. — 9 



98 THE TUILERIES. 

away, Miss Emeline, Miss Adelaide, and Madame 
Rosalie, gave me their cards. 

I saw this morning the queen and the king's most 
excellent majesty. They passed through the Champs 
Elysees to their country habitation at Neuilly. The 
equipage was a plain carriage with six horses; a pos- 
tillion on a front and one on a rear horse ; two other 
carriages and four, and guards. To see a king for the 
first time is an event. Ain't you mad ? — you who 
never saw anything over there bigger than his most 
unchristian Majesty Black Hawk, and Higglewiggin 
his squaw ? I have now come to the interesting part 
of this letter. I am yours. 



LETTER V. 

The Tuileries — The gardens — The statues — The Cabinets tie lec- 
ture—The king's band — Regulations of the gardens— Yankee 
modesty— Ihe English parks — Proper estimate of riches — Policy 
of cultivating a taste for innocent pleasures — Advantages of gar- 
dens — Should be made ornamental — Cause of the French Revolu- 
tion — Mr. Burke's notion of the English parks — Climate of France. 

Paris, July 24th, 1835. 
I am going now to escort you to the Tuileries, for 
which you must scramble through a few filthy lanes a 
quarter of a mile towards the southwest. Who would 
live in this rank old Paris if it was not for its gardens? 
This garden is in the midst of the city, and contains 
near a hundred acres of ground. It has the Seine on 



THE GARDENS. 99 

the south side, the Palace of the Tuileries on the east, 
and oq the north the beautiful houses of the Rue Rivoli, 
the street intervening, and on the west the Place Louis 
XV. between it and the Champs Elysees. The whole 
is enclosed with an iron railing tipped with gold near 
the Palace, and terraces having a double row of tile 
trees are raised along the north and south sides. A 
beautiful parterre is spread out in front of the Palace, 
of oranges, red rosed laurels, and other shrubbery, with 
a reservoir, jets d'eaucc, vases and statues. The chief 
walks also have orange trees on both margins during 
the summer, and one of these as wide as Chestnut street, 
runs from the centre Pavilion of the Palace through the 
middle of the garden, and continuing up through the 
Champs Elysees to the Barriere de I'Etoile, terminates 
in a full view of the great triumphal arch of Napoleon. 
In the interior are plots of woodland, and chairs upon 
which, at two sous the sitting, you may repose or read 
in the shade, and little cabinets, which offer you for a 
sou your choice of the newspapers. The area is of 
hard earth and gravel, relieved here and there by en- 
closures of verdure, and on the west end an octagonal 
lake is inhabited by swans, and fishes and river gods, 
and a fountain is jetting its silvery streams in the air. 
This is the garden of the Tuileries. — The whole surface 
is sprinkled with heathen mythology. Hercules stran- 
gles the Hydra, Theseus deals blows to the Minotaur. 
Prometheus sits sullen on his rock, and Antinous is mad 
to see his own gardens outdone, and the Pius iEneas, 
little Jule by the hand, bears off his aged parent upon 
his shoulders. Venus too looks beautiful a straddle of 
a tortoise, and Ceres is beautiful, her head coiffed in the 
latest fashion with sheaves of wheat. On the side next 
the Palace you will see a knife-grinder, whom every- 



100 BEAUTIFUL WALKS. 

body admires, and statues of ancient heroes and states- 
men majestic on their pedestals, Pericles, Cincinnatus, 
Scipio, Csssar and Spartacus. You may imagine what life 
these images, set out alone and in groups through the 
garden, give to the perspective. — The whole scene is as 
beautiful as my description of it is detestable. The 
•French are justly proud of this garden and are every 
year increasing the quantity of its statuary ; it will 
become at length one of the splendid galleries of the 
capital; its silent lessons improving the public taste in 
the arts and elegancies of life, how much better than the 
lessons of the schools ! I like to see, in spite of English 
authority, a good deal of art in a city garden ; a rude 
and uncivilized field seems to me no more appropriate 
there than a savage and unpolished community. 

In this garden there is no drinking, no smoking, no 
long faces waiting the preliminary soups, or turning 
up of noses over the relics of a departed dinner. It is 
a spot sacred to the elegant and intellectual enjoyments. 
The great walks are filled every fine evening with a full 
stream of fashionable company, and that near the Rue 
Rivoli has always a hedge of ladies extending along 
each margin the third of a mile. In another section a 
thousand or two of children are engaged in their infan- 
tile sports, and their army of nurses are gathering also 
a share of the health and amusements. Here are the 
most graceful little mothers, and children and nurses 
of the world; I will send you over one of each some of 
these days for a pattern. 

How delightful to walk of an early morning amidst 
the silent congregation of statues of eminent men v of 
heroes, and mythological deities. I often rise with the 
first dawn for the sole luxury of this enjoyment. Very 
early the Cabinet de lecture opens its treasures to the 



THE LONELY STRANGER. 101 

anxious politicians, who sit retired here and there 
through the shady elms. One with a doctrinal air 
spreads open the " Journal des Debats f he reads, ru- 
minates, ponders, and now and then writes down an 
idea on his tablets ; another pours out his whole spirit 
through his tangled hair and grisly mustaches, devouring 
the "National ;" he rises sometimes, clenches his two 
fists, and sits down again ; and a third, in a neat and 
venerable garb, a snuff-colored coat and tie-wig, his 
handkerchief and snuff-box at his side (from the Fau- 
bourg St. Germain), lays deliberately upon his lap the 
« Quotidienne." And here and there you will see a 
diligent schoolboy preparing his college recitations; 
perusing his Ovid at the side of a Daphne and Apollo, 
or by a group of Dryads skulking behind an oak, or of 
Naiads plunging into a fountain. You will see one 
individual upon the southern terrace, his hands clasped, 
walking lonely, or standing still, his eyes stretched to- 
wards the west, till a tear steals down his cheeks. He 
is a stranger, and a thousand leagues of ocean yawn 
between him and his native country ! I love this 
terrace of all things : it has a look towards home. When 
I receive your letters I come here to read them — and to 
read them ; and when a pretty woman honors me with 
her company, why we come hither together, and in this 
shady bower, I tell her of our squaw wives and the 
little pappooses, until the sun fades away in the west. 

All day long this elegant saloon has its society, and 
a lady can walk in it, unaccompanied, when and whither 
she pleases. Every day is fashionable, but some more 
than others; and from four till six, are the fashionable 
hours. The crowd by degrees thickens, the several 
groups are formed, and towards four, the panorama is 
complete. This is the time that one stands gaping at 

9* 



102 A SCENE OF ENCHANTMENT, 

the long file of ladies upon each side of the wide walk, 
or that one strolls up and down eyeing them along the 
intervening avenue, or airs or fans one's idle minutes 
upon the terrace overlooking this scene of enchantment, 
I never venture in here, without saying that part of the 
Lord's prayer about temptation, which I used to leave 
out in the Coal Region. At length the day is subdued, 
and the long glimmering twilight, peculiar to these 
northern climates, wanes away gently into night. Then 
the king's band strikes up its concert from the front of 
the palace, and then you will see the graveled walk 
leading to the steps of the royal residence, and the 
transversal alley, filled with ten thousand listeners^ 
bound in the spell of Rosini and Mozart for an hour; an 
hour too, in which the air has a more balmy fragrance, 
and the music a more delicious harmony. Innumerable 
lights in the meantime shine out from the Palace 
windows and the Rue Rivoli, and glimmer through the 
tufted trees of the garden. The plantation of elms has 
also at this hour its little enchantments. Lovers using 
the sweet opportunities of the night, and seated apart 
from the crowd, breathe their soft whisperings into each 
other's ears, in a better music than the king's, and you 
can see visions of men and women, just flit by you now 
and then in the doubtful light, and fade away into the 
thin air. But I am venturing upon the poetical point 
of my description, which I had better leave to your 
fancy. Alas, I squandered away all my poetry last 
week upon the Palais Royal, and have left myself 
nothing but mere prose to describe to you the exquisite 
and incomparable Tuileries. 

The regulations of this garden are simple. The 
world fs admitted, if trim and dressed decently, with the 
morning dawn, and is dispersed about nine in the even- 



THE MODEST YANKEE, 103 

ing by the beating of a drum. One is not permitted 
to enter with anything of a large bundle. The minister 
of finance was stopped the other day 5 he was attempt- 
ing to enter with the budget for this year ! The rules 
are enforced by an individual accoutred in a beard, 
mustaches, red breeches and a carbine, who walks 
gravely up and down at the entrance of each gate. 

The statues (Lucretia and all) are exposed in a state 
of the most unsophisticated nakedness. If mother Eve 
should come back, she would find things here just as she 
left them, with the exception of the aprons. This to us 
green Americans, at our arrival, is a subject of great 
scandal. I had with me a modest Yankee (please excuse 
the tautology) on my first visit here, and we stumbled 
first on a Venus de Medici, which was passable, for she 
apologized manibus passis for her deshabille as well as 
she could ; then a Hercules, and at length we fell in with 
a Venus just leaving her bath. " Come," said he, inter- 
rupting my curiosity, and drawing me aside, " let us go 
out; I don't think this is a decent place." You must 
not imagine, however, my dear, that you Americans are 
essentially more *******. Things of every day's 
occurrence are never a subject of remark ; and if our 
first mother had not begun these modesties of the toilette, 
the world might have gone on, as in her time, and no 
one would have taken notice of it. Americans (I pre- 
sume I may mention it to their credit) are more easily 
reconciled to the customs of foreign nations than any 
other people ; they are more plastic and easily fitted to 
every condition of life. Talk to any one of your ac- 
quaintance, of a community of lodging in her mansion 
in Chestnut street, and she will have a fit of hysterics at 
least, and six months after, you will find her climbing up 
a long Parisian staircase as long as Jacob's ladder, in 



104 SQUARES OF PHILADELPHIA. 

common with half a dozen of families, and delighted 
with her apartments. An Englishman or Frenchman in 
foreign countries can no more change his habits than the 
iEthiop his skin. 

I may as well go on gardening through the whole of 
this letter. Our little squares and squaroids of Philadel- 
phia have their little advantages ; I do not mean to dis- 
parage them, but from want of extent they are not sus- 
ceptible of any elegant improvement, nor do they furnish 
a promiscuous multitude with the necessary accommo- 
dations ; they lose, therefore, their rank in society, and 
become unfashionable. All your pretty squarettes, and 
I believe those of New York too, could be put into the 
Tuileries alone. I have not yet seen the English parks, 
but report says they would swallow up our whole city. 
And I have known even these little spots of ours to be 
looked at with a suspicions eye. I have heard men cal- 
culate the value of the houses and other things which 
might be built upon them. The " Independence Square" 
is worth a thousand dollars a foot, every inch of it ; 
why don't the New Yorkquois sell their Battery ? Oh, 
the magnificent wharves, and the warehouses and hotels 
that might grow upon it ! Besides, who but the cater- 
pillars, and they half starved, venture into it ? With 
all its breezes from the sea, its port more beautiful than 
Naples, its fleets laden with India, Persia and Arabia, a 
fashionable woman will not look through the fence. 

Railroads and spinning-jennies, are to be sure excel- 
lent things, but they lead us too much to measure value 
by its capacity to supply some physical necessity, and to 
forget that the moral condition of man has also its wants. 
If riches only were necessary to the prosperity of a na- 
tion, I should to-day perhaps, instead of the Boulevards, 
be strolling through the fashionable streets of Babylon. 



THE ESTIMATE OF RICHES. 105 

If a painting, or a statue, by perpetuating the memory 
of virtuous and religious men, and the glorious events 
of history, as the power of elevating the mind and in- 
spiring it with emulous feelings, as Scipio Africanus and 
other great men used to testify • if it has the power of im- 
proving taste, which is improving virtue, or affording 
pleasure, which is a part of our natural wants, or even 
of employing time innocently, which might be otherwise 
employed wickedly — perhaps in getting drunk at the 
tavern— why then a statue, or a painting, is not only 
more ornamental, but as useful as a steam-engine or a 
spinning-jenny. The Scythian who preferred the neigh- 
ing of a horse to a fine air of Timotheus, no doubt was 
a good Scythian, but we are not, in our present relations 
with the world, to remain long in a state of Scythian 
simplicity, but it is worth while to consider what is about 
to be the condition of a people, who have grown luxu- 
rious, consequently vicious, without the refinements and 
distractions of the fine arts and liberal amusements. 
Utility with all her arithmetic very often miscalculates. 
By keeping vacant spaces open in the midst of a town, 
an equivalent value is given to other localities. A gar- 
den would bring many, who now waste their time in 
traveling into airy situations, to the neighborhood of the 
Exchange and other places of business, and it would 
drive many out from such places who may as well be 
anywhere else — whose time at least is of less value. 

Since human nature will have her diversion, the busi- 
ness of the statesman is to amuse her innocently ; that is, 
to multiply pleasures which are cheap and accessible to 
all — pleasures which are healthy, and especially those 
which are public. Men never take bad habits under 
the eye of the world; but secret amusements are seden- 
tary, unhealthy, and all lead to disreputable and dan- 



106 SOCIAL PLEASURES. 

gerous excesses. Every one knows the social dis- 
position of our race ; it is a disposition founded upon 
both our good and bad passions— upon our love of kin- 
dred, and other loves — upon a sense of weakness and 
dependence ; and curiosity, vanity, and even malevo- 
lence find their gratification in social intercourse. It is, 
therefore, the duty of statesmen to study that our crowds 
and meetings of pleasure, which they cannot prevent, 
should not be in gin-shops and taverns. Let us have 
gardens, then, and other public places where we may 
see our friends, and parade our vanities, if you will, be- 
fore the eyes of the world. — Did you ever know any 
one who was not delighted with a garden ? What are 
the best descriptions of the best poets ? Their gardens. 
It is the original taste ; it is transmitted from Paradise ; 
and is almost the only gratification of the rich that does 
not cloy in the possession. I know an English gentle- 
man here, who has worn out all the pleasures that money 
can buy, at twenty-eight; he is peevish, ill-natured, and 
insupportable ; we sometimes walk together into the 
Luxembourg, where he suddenly brightens up, and is 
agreeable, and as happy for a while as if he was no 
lord. 

To know the advantages of these places to the poor, 
one must visit the close alleys, crowded courts, and over- 
peopled habitations of an overgrown city ; where vices 
and diseases are festering in secret in the heart of the 
community. Why send missionaries to the South Seas, 
while these infected districts are unreclaimed ? or why 
talk of popular religion, and morals, and education ? — 
the people who would employ about half the care and 
expense in preventing a disposition to vice, that they 
now employ in correcting it, would be the people the 
most happy and innocent of the earth» The best speci- 



ADVANTAGES OF GARDENS. 107 

fics, I can conceive, against the vagabond population of 
a city, are gardens, airy streets, and neat houses. Men's 
habits of life are degraded always to the meanness of 
their lodgings: if we build "beggars' nests/ 7 we must 
expect beggars to breed in them. 

Gardens give a taste for out-door exercises, and 
thereby promote health and physical development ; and 
they aid in keeping up the energy of a nation, which 
city life, in depriving the women and children of air and 
exercise, tends perpetually to destroy. To the children 
they give not only habits of health, cheerfulness ,and 
gracefulness, but an emulation of neatness and good 
manners, which they would surely not acquire under 
the sober stimulus of home and the nursery; to the 
nurses, too, they impart a valuable share of the same 
benefits. Finally, by gardens and other embellishments 
of a city we induce strangers to reside there. About 
fifty thousand English are now residents in France, and 
their necessary expense is rated at half a million of 
pounds sterling annually. It is perhaps no exaggeration 
to say that no property pays so abundant a revenue to 
a city as its gardens. What is it that produces to a city 
the same reputation ? Who speaks of Madrid without 
its Prado, of London without its parks? And why 
should Paris be the choice residence of Europe, but for 
its galleries, and public gardens ; its Tuileries, its Palais 
Royal, its Luxembourg, Tivoli, its Champs Elysees and 
Bois de Boulogne ? 

But to make gardens is not enough ; you must cul- 
tivate the public taste for them. For this it is necessary, 
that they be made ornamental, kept by a vigilant 
police, and that fashionable women should frequent 
them. The French women have better sense of their 
advantages than to suffer their fine gardens to become 



108 MANNERS OF THE LOWER CLASSES. 

vulgar. They have to be sure days and hours that are 
more genteel than others ; but they are to be seen there 
every day, and there is room for all classes without 
incommoding each other. Even the poorer classes will 
not frequent a garden that only poor devils visit. They 
are flattered to be seen within the sphere of good com- 
pany, and are encouraged to appear there with becoming 
decency. It is not to be denied that the poorer people 
of Paris are decent in their manners and dress, and 
graceful beyond the example of all other nations. In 
what more serviceable manner can a lady of fortune 
benefit her country and humanity, than by improving 
the manners and elevating the character of the lower 
classes ? she is taking care of her own interest in taking 
care of the poor. It was the pride of the French nobility, 
and not the Jacobins, that set loose the many-headed 
tyranny of the Revolution ; it was not Robespierre, but 
Louis XIV, and Louis XV, who put the axe to the 
throat of their unhappy successor. 

Much intercourse of mind or society is not indeed to 
be expected between two classes of a different education 
and fortune ; nor can it be desired by either ; but there 
is nothing in our code of morals or religion, which can 
justify either one in treating the other with unkindness or 
incivility. True dignity has no need to stand on the 
defensive. A lady who has little of this quality, will 
always be most afraid to compromise it by vulgar 
associations ; it is right to be economical of what one 
has little. The contempt of the rabble, which we hear 
of so much, where not sheer ignorance, is three-fourths 
of it, parade and affectation. She, who abroad hangs 
the common world with so much scorn upon her nose, 
lives at home, under the same roof, almost at the same 
table, with the veriest rabble of the whole community, 



MR. burke's opinion. 109 

her own servants and slaves. Why should we abandon 
the Tuileries more than the Boulevards, and why the 
Washington Square more than Chestnut Street, because 
the common people walk in it? — I have written upon 
this subject more at length and more earnestly than 
perhaps I ought, from the mortification, the almost 
indignation I feel after witnessing the utility and orna- 
ment of gardens in other countries, at the immense 
defect occasioned by their stupid omission in the face of 
European experience, in the beauty and comfort of our 
American cities. 

But without more scolding, let us see how far the evil 
may admit of a remedy. Mr. Burke, in pleading for 
the English parks, which the utilitarians of the day pro- 
posed to sacrifice to some temporary convenience, or 
miserly policy, called them the " lungs of the city, 7 ' 
and supplicated the government not to obstruct the pub- 
lic health in one of its most vital and necessary functions. 
The question here is with our Philadelphia, which never 
had any other lungs than the graveyards, to supply 
these respiratory organs, I propose that some one of 
your old bachelors, as rich as Girard, shall die, as soon 
as he can conveniently be spared, and leave us a second 
legacy to be appropriated as follows : to buy two lots of 
fifty acres each upon the west bank of the Schuylkill ; 
(they ought to be in the centre of the city, but. time will 
place them there ;) the one for the parade of equipages, 
display of horsemanship and military training, and for 
the games and ceremonies of our public festivals; the 
other to be sacred to the arts, and to refined and intel- 
lectual pleasures. I know of no benefaction by which 
he could impose upon his posterity so sacred a debt of 
gratitude ; there is none, surely, which should confer 
upon its author so lasting and glorious a reputation. 
vol. i.— 10 



110 THE GLORIOUS DAYS. 

1 have not a word of news; only that my health has 
improved very much, to the credit of this French cli- 
mate ; you would think it was a Spartacus who had 
stepped from his pedestal in the Tuileries. The French 
summer is delightful ; only think of reading at three in 
the morning without a candle, and stepping about in 
the daylight till ten o'clock at night. Adieu. 



LETTER VI. 

The Three Glorious Days — The plump little widow — Marriage of 
fifteen young girls — Shrines of the martyrs — Louis Philippe — 
Dukes of Orleans and Nemours — The National Guards — Fieschi — 
The Infernal Machine — Marshal Mortierand twelve persons killed 
— Dismissal of the troops — The queen and her daughters — Dis- 
turbed state of France— The Chamber of Deputies — Elements of 
support to the present dynasty — Private character of the king — 
The daily journals — The Chamber of Peers — Bonaparte. 

Paris, August 1st, 1835. 
The Parisians have set apart three days annually, to 
commemorate their Revolution of 1830 — the 27th, 28th 
and 29th of July ; they call them the " Three Glorious 
Days." On the 27th, are showers of sermons all over 
town in the churches, and fastings over good dinners in 
the cafes ; pious visits, too, are paid to the graves of 
those, who had the glory of being killed on the original 
"three days," who are called "the martyrs," and are 
buried on or near the spot upon which they were killed. 
The military parade is the 28th, and the gala or jubilee 
day is the 29th. 



LITTLE WIDOW. Ill 

As the time approaches, the town is big with visit- 
ors, and all is noise and preparation. Yew trees are 
planted by the graves of the " martyrs," where the dogs 
and other obscene animals, the rest of the year, wallow; 
and willows are set a-weeping several days before. 
Theatres are erected, at the same time, and orchestras, 
and platforms for the buffoons ; and the illuminations, 
which they keep ready made from year to year, are 
brought out upon the Champs Elysees. Every evening 
the whole of Paris comes out to see these works, and 
says : this is for the mourning of the 27th, and this is for 
the dancing of the 29th. On the present occasion, a 
rain had turned the streets into mud ; but the French 
turn out on their fete days, mud or no mud, and in 
numbers far exceeding our notions of arithmetic. 

The 27th arrived, and every street and avenue 
poured their waves into the Boulevards and Champs 
Elysees, as so many rivers their waters to the ocean. 
A plump little widow of our hotel offered to guide my 
inexperience in the crowd, which I accepted. I took 
her for her skill in the town, and she me for my man- 
hood, as a blind person takes a lame one for the use of 
his eyes. — I should have profited by her services, but 
she was no sooner on the street, than she ran right off 
in a hurry, each of her little feet doing its uttermost to 
get before the other, and kept me running after her all 
day long;— you have sometimes seen a colt running 
after its mother, now falling behind, and now catching 
up with her ; and there were just in front of me, I verily 
believe, five thousand French women, each exhibiting 
a pair of pretty ankles. A stranger has a great many 
things to see that are no curiosities to the natives. 
Never take a native with you as a guide, but always 
some one who knows no more than yourself. On these 



112 MARRIAGE OF THE MARTYRS. 

muddy occasions, a French woman just places her hand 
upon the right hip, gathering up her lower gear on the 
nether side to the level of the knee, and then whips 
along, totally regardless of that part of the world that is 
behind her ; as in a chariot race you see the charioteer 
bending over the lash, and striving after the one just 
before him, not caring a straw for those he has passed 
by. — You might have seen my guide and me, one while 
walking slowly and solemnly in a file of Sisters of 
Charity, and then looking down upon an awful proces- 
sion from a gallery of the Boulevards; next you might 
have seen us behind a bottle of " vin ordinaire," at the 
cafe Turc; and then seated snugly together at the church 
of St. Roch. Here we witnessed an interesting cere- 
mony — a marriage. Fifteen young girls, and the same 
number of young men, children of the martyrs, were 
intermarried. They are apportioned by the govern- 
ment ; and the marrying is to continue till the whole 
stock is married off as encouragement to new " martyrs." 
We stayed one hour here, and had a great deal of inno- 
cent squeezing, with prayers and sacred music, and then 
we went home, and had capons for dinner. 

After this repast, I sallied out again, under the eegis 
of my same guide, who now led me through weary and 
intricate passages, and through thickets of men and 
women, all getting along in the slime of each other's 
tracks, towards the Hotel de Ville. Here, in the midst 
of an immense crowd, were the shrines of the martyrs,, 
and over them a chapel of crape, with all the other 
mournful emblems. The relatives of the deceased were 
hanging up chaplets, and reverend men were saying 
prayers, and sprinkling holy water upon the graves. I 
thought of the dog whose master lies buried here — the 
dog so pathetically sung by Beranger. 



THE NATIONAL GUARDS. 113 



■By the Louvre gate 



Where buried lie the men of July, 
And flowers are flung by the passer-by, 
The dog howls desolate. 

Dreaming on the grave he hears his master's whistle 
in the night. 

"II l'entend qui siffle dans l'ombre, 
Se leve et saute apres son ombre 
En gemissant." 

July 28th. 
This day was given to the general parade. Mo/e 
than a hundred thousand of the National Guards were 
arrayed upon the Boulevards ; and the side walks were 
choked up, and running over with the crowd, which 
was pushed back now and then, in great fright and con- 
fusion, by the gens d'armes, and the tails of the horses ; 
and all the rest of Paris looked on from the windows, 
balconies, and roofs of the adjoining houses — I as much 
noticed as a leaf of the Alleghany, upon a verandah of 
the Boulevard du Temple. Great was the noise, and 
long and patient the expectation. At length there was 
a sudden flustering and bustle among the multitude, and 
I sat up closer to Madame Dodu — it was the king! 
He was accompanied by the Duke of Orleans and the 
Duke of Nemours, his sons, and passed along the line, 
followed by officers on horseback, very grim. He was 
received with not very ardent acclamations. Compared 
to " General Jackson's visit," it was a fifth rate thing. 
Not a bird, though many flew over us, fell dead. But 
how shall I describe to you the magnificence of the 
pomp? since in our country there is no comparison. 
How should we — we, who can hardly contain the 
Washington Greys, or Blues — which is it ? with John- 

10* 



114 EXHIBITION OF HUMAN STRENGTH. 

son's band, and twenty little boys who run after them— 
how should we be able to conceive of a regular infantry 
of more than a hundred thousand men, with their ten 
thousand drums, and trumpets, and clarions, and accou- 
tred in uniform, and trained to the last grace and dex- 
terity of discipline ? But, alas ! what avails to indivi- 
dual power this exhibition of human strength, since we 
see its haughtiest pretensions, every day, the sport of 
some ignominious chance ? Achilles, they say, was 
killed by the most effeminate rout of all Troy ; and his 
great descendant, Pyrrhus, by an old woman, who lived 
6 \au troisilme" and pitched, the Lord knows what, 
upon his head through her window. What signifies 
the strength of Hercules, if it may be outwrestled by a 
vapor ? — It is vexatious, too, to see how much events are 
under the control of accident, and how little Providence 
seems to trouble itself about them \ and to think how 
vain a thing is that boast of the world — human wisdom! 
I knew a man who missed his fortune, and was ruined 
by his prudence ; and another, who saved his house 
from being burnt by his foolishness ! Who has not 
heard of no less an emperor than Bonaparte being saved 
by some vanity of his wife? — the Infernal Machine 
blowing up, she fixing her tournure, or something in her 
chamber ; and he fretting at the delay, and churning his 
spite through his teeth? Why, I have read of a' lady, 
who preserved her life by staying home at loo, on a 
Sunday, instead of going to prayers, where the church 
fell in, and killed the whole congregation. Yet, with all 
this experience, men still continue to be haughty of their 
strength, self-sufficient of their wisdom, and to throw 
Providence in each other's teeth, when anything hap- 
pens. — But this morality is interrupting the thread of my 
story. As the king and his escort approached the east 



THE INFERNAL MACHINE. 115 

end of the Boulevards, a deadly machine, prepared by 
a man named Fieschi, (Infernal Machine maker to his 
Majesty,) was discharged from the window of a small 
wine store, and made havoc of the crowd ; the king, 
with his two sons, by a special Providence, standing un- 
hurt amidst the slaughter; not a hair was singed, not a 
garment was rent ! — He continued to the end of the line, 
and returned over the scene of the murder. His cool 
and undaunted countenance gave a favorable opinion of 
his courage ; and his danger, accompanied by such cruel 
circumstances, has turned the sympathies of a great 
many in his favor, who cared not a straw for him yes- 
terday. Of the twelve persons killed, Marshal Mortier, 
Duke of Treviso, is the most distinguished. Eighteen 
persons were wounded. I was so near as to smell the 
gunpowder ; which was quite near enough for a foreigner. 
I have since visited the battle-ground— what an atro- 
cious spectacle ! 

The author of this murder is a Corsican who has 
served a long time his apprenticeship to villany in the 
French army. I have seen his machine ; it is composed 
of a series of gun-barrels, and is a bungling contrivance. 
The French, with all their experience, don't shine in this 
kind of manufacture. It would seem a most contemptible 
thing in the eyes of a Kentucky rifleman. This fellow's 
fame, however, is assured; he will stand conspicuous in 
the catalogue of the regicide villains. The others have 
all aimed at a single bird, but he at the whole flock. 
One is almost tempted to regret that Ravaillac's boots are 
out of fashion. He attempted to escape through a back 
window, but the bursting of one of his guns disabled 
him. His head is fractured and mangled ; they expect, 
however, that by the care of his physician he may get 
well enough to be hanged. 



116 THE ROYAL FAMILY. 

The last scene, the dismissal of the troops, was in the 
Place Vendome, where I procured a convenient view of 
the ceremony. — I must not forget that in this place 1 lost 
my faithful guide, who had borne the fatigues and ad- 
ventures of the day with me. Whether she had wan- 
dered from the way, or wearied had sat down, or had 
stopped to garter up her stockings, is uncertain— certain 
it is that she was lost here in the crowd, nee post oca lis 
est reddita nostris. On the west of the great column, 
the statue of Bonaparte all the while peering over him, 
sat the king on horseback, saluting the brigades as they 
passed by. His three sons attended him, and some of 
his generals and foreign ambassadors ; and the queen 
and her daughters, and Madame Adelaide, the sister, and 
such like fine people, were on a gallery overhead, fanned 
by the national flags. As the queen descended there was 
a shout from the multitude more animated than any of 
the whole day. The king sat here several hours, and re- 
ceived the affection of his troops bare-headed, bow fol- 
lowing bow in perpetual succession, and each bow ac- 
companied by a smile — just such a smile as one is obliged 
to put on, when one meets an amiable and pretty woman 
whom one loves, in a fit of the colic. 

July 29th. 
All Paris was so overwhelmed with grief for the death 
of General Mortier, and the " narrow escape of the king," 
that it blighted entirely the immense enjoyment we had 
expected for this day— the last and best of the "three 
glorious days." Ball rooms and theatres were erected 
with extraordinary preparation all over the Champs 
Elysees, and the fire works were designed to be the most 
brilliant ever exhibited in Europe. Multitudes had come 
from distant countries to see them. I say nothing of the 



DEATH OF MARSHAL MORTIER. 1 17 

private losses and disappointments ; of the booths and 
fixtures put up and now to be removed, and the conse- 
quent ruin of individuals ; or of the sugar plums, can- 
dies, gingerbread nuts, barley sugar, and all the rancid 
butter of Paris bought up to make short cakes— all 
broken up by this one man ; and the full cup of plea- 
sure dashed from our very lips to the ground. We 
were to have such an infinite feast, too, furnished by the 
government. As for me, I was delighted a whole week 
in advance, and now — I am very sorry. 

Under the Empire, and before, and long after, it was 
a common part of a great festival here to have thrown 
to the people bread and meat, and wine, and to set them 
to scramble for the possession, as they do ravens, or 
hounds in a kennel, or the beasts at the Menagerie. To 
put the half starved population up as an amusement for 
their better fed neighbors; to pelt them with pound 
loaves and little pies; to set a hurricane of sausages to 
rain over their heads; and to see the hungry clowns 
gape with enormous mouths, and scramble for these eat- 
ables ; and to see the officers, facetious fellows, employed 
to heave out these provisions, deceive the expectant 
mouths, by feints and tricks, by throwing sometimes a 
loaf of leather, or of cork, to leap from one skull to an- 
other — what infinite amusement! One of the benefits 
of the last Revolution was to put an end to this dis- 
honor of the French nation. This is all I have to say 
of the " three glorious days." I must trust to-morrow 
to furnish me something for this blank space. Good- 
night. 

Rue St. Anne, August 2d. 

Louis Philippe has had nothing but trouble with these 
French people, ever since he undertook their govern- 



118 TURBULENCE OF THE FRENCH. 

ment. He has about the same enjoyment of his royalty, 
as one sea-sick has of the majesty of the ocean. He is 
lampooned in the newspapers, caricatured in the print- 
shops, hawked about town, placarded upon the walls of 
every street, and gibbeted upon every gateway and 
lamp-post of the city. In 1831, a revolt was suppressed 
by Marshal Soult at Lyons ; another was got up in the 
same place in 1834, in which there were six days' fight- 
ing, six thousand slain, and eighteen hundred crammed 
into the prisons. In Paris there were three days' skir- 
mishing at the Cloister St. Merri, in which were five 
hundred arrests in one night ; and one hundred and fifty 
are on trial (the " Proces Monstre," so much talked of), 
in the Chamber of Peers; and now we have superadd- 
ed this affair of Fieschi, with great expectations for the 
future. 

The foreigners here are full of ill-bodings, and I hear 
nothing but revolutions in every rustling leaf. We shall 
have our brains knocked out by the mob someone of these 
days. It rains nothing but Damiens and Ravaillacs, and 
Jacques Clements, all over town. Every one is pro- 
phetic ; and I am going after .the general example to 
cast the king's horoscope quietly in my corner, and cal- 
culate for you his chances. It will be a pretty thing if 
I can't eke out a letter from so important an event, and 
the only one of any kind that has happened since I have 
been in Paris. 

The main strength of the government is the Chamber 
of Deputies ; which is chosen by less than two hundred 
thousand electors. It represents, then, not the mass of 
the people, who are thirty-two millions, but property, 
which has a natural interest in peace and quietude upon 
any reasonable terms. Besides, the voters being divided 
into small electoral colleges, are tangible, and easily 



THE CHAMBER OF DEPUTIES. 119 

bribed by offices, and local interests ; and the members 
of the chamber also are allowed to hold other offices, 
and are very eager to possess them ; and if the king does 
not bind both these parties about his neck, he has less 
policy than the world gives him credit for. He has with 
his ministry, one hundred and fifty thousand of these 
bribes at his disposal. So, also, has he a large majority 
of this chamber in his favor. Freeholders paying less 
than two hundred francs annual tax are not entitled to 
a vote. These are murmuring, and struggling for an 
extension of suffrage • but this they do not expect from 
a change, and are therefore in favor of the present 
dynasty. This class, from the great division of property 
in the Revolution, is by far the most numerous. Not 
more than fifteen hundred landed proprietors of the 
kingdom have a revenue above twelve thousand pounds. 
The king has also his means of popularity with the 
poorer classes ; amongst which 1 may mention the 
"Saving Banks," established on the responsibility of the 
government; one hundred of these are in Paris alone. 
They not only encourage the economy, industry, and 
orderly habits of the lower classes, but bind them by 
the strongest of all interests to the government. For 
the active support of this power, there is a national 
guard of eight hundred thousand men, all proprietors, 
and having interests to hazard in a revolution. There 
is an immense regular army of near five hundred thou- 
sand men, and disaffection in this body would indeed be 
dangerous; but who is the master spirit, who can hope, 
of a force so dispersed, and with a continual change of 
position and officers, to concert a general plan of revolt? 
Finally, the chief learning and talent of the nation are on 
the side of the king. In his councils you find such men 
as Thiers, Guizot, Royer Collard, Villemain, Barrante, 



120 STABILITY OF THE GOVERNMENT. 

Keratry, and a number of others of the same caste, who 
were the main instruments in setting up the present 
government, and have of course a personal interest in its 
support. 

The elements of the opposition are the Liberals, in 
favor of a constitutional monarchy, with an extension of 
suffrage and other popular rights : unwilling to endure 
under the present rulers what they resisted under their 
predecessors ; secondly, the Republicans, downright ene- 
mies of all sorts of monarchy, and in favor of an elective 
government, as that of the United States. This party 
is numerous, but without any concentration of strength ; 
and finally, the Carlists, the partisans of the ancient 
monarchy, and its legitimate sovereigns. These parties 
all abut against each other, and have scarce a common 
interest ; and I do not see from what quarter any one 
of them can set up a rival dangerous to the existing au- 
thority. 

The present king has industry and capacity in a high 
degree, and he exerts both diligently in improving the 
condition of the people. He favors agriculture, com- 
merce and the arts of peace ; he thrives by his own wit, 
as well as by the silliness of his predecessors. New 
streets and houses are rising up to bless him all over 
Paris. The nation was dragooned into Louis XVIII. 
and Charles X. by foreign bayonets ; Louis Philippe 
is its own choice. He took part also in the Revolution, 
and cannot be feared as the partisan of anti-revolution- 
ary doctrines ; the peasants need not dread under his 
reign a restitution of the spoils of the nobility. He is 
also exemplary in private life ; he rises early and sees 
after his business ; knocks up his boys and packs them 
off to school with the other urchins of the city, and 
thinks there is no royal way to mathematics. For his 



PACIFIC POLICY OF LOUIS PHILIPPE. 121 

pacific policy alone he deserves to go to heaven. It can- 
not be doubtful that war is one of the most aggravating 
miseries that afflict our wretched human nature this side 
the grave. For the essential cause of their revolutions 
and national calamities the French need not reason be- 
yond a simple statistical view of their wars for the last 
five centuries. They had in this period thirty-five years 
of civil, and forty of religious wars, and of foreign wars 
seventy-six on, and one hundred and seventy-six off the 
French territory; and their great battles are one hundred 
and eighty-four. One does not comprehend why the 
judgments of heaven should not fall upon a nation, 
which consumes a half nearly of its existence in carry- 
ing on offensive wars. And moreover (a new virtue in a 
French king), Louis Philippe keeps no left-handed wives 
■ — no " Belles Feronieres," no " Gabrielle d'Estrees," or 
f* Madame Lavallieres ;" he sticks to his rib of Sicily, 
with whom he has nine children living all in a fresh and 
vigorous health. Why, then, seek to kill a king recom- 
mendable by so many excellent qualities ? Attempts at 
regicide are not always proofs of disloyalty in a nation. 
A great number of desperate men, mostly the refuse of 
the army, have been turned loose upon the community, 
and these, in disposing of their own worthless lives, seek 
that of the king in order to die gloriously upon the 
Place St. Jacques. I have no doubt that the majority of 
the nation desire ardently his safety. France has tried 
alternately the two extremes of human government, or 
rather misgovernment. She has rushed from an unli- 
mited monarchy to a crazy democracy, and back into a 
military despotism. She has tilted the vessel on one 
side, then run to the other, and at length is taking her 
station in the middle. The general temper of the pub- 
lic mind now favors a moderate government, and this 

VOL. I. — 11 



122 PRESENT TONE OF FEELING. 

is wisdom bought at so dear a rate that it would be un- 
derrating the common sense of the nation to suppose it 
will be lightly regarded. 

Here is a copy of each of the Paris newspapers. You 
will see something of the spirit in which they are con- 
ducted, and one of the chief engines by which the nation 
is governed. There is certainly no country in which a 
newspaper has so great an influence, and none in which 
the editor is so considerable a man as in Paris. 

The Constitutionnel opposes and defends all parties, 
and is pleased and displeased with all systems of gov- 
ernment. It courts the favor of the " Petite Bourgeoisie," 
the shopkeepers, who are always restless and displeased, 
but their interests require a quiet pursuit of business. 
This is the most gossiping gazette of them all, and gos- 
sips very agreeably. 

The Journal des Debats represents the "haute Bour- 
geoisie," the rich industrial classes, whose great interests 
are order and security of property, and the maintenance 
of peace with foreign countries. The " Partie Doctrin- 
aire," the chief supporters of this paper, are a kind of 
genteel liberals, holding the balance between confirmed 
royalists and democrats, and" ultra liberals. They have 
supported their doctrines with a great display of scho- 
lastic learning, which has given them their appellation 
of " Doctrinaires." Their leaders are mostly from the 
schools, as Royer Collard, Guizot, and Villemain, Kera- 
try and Barrante. This paper has a leaning towards 
a vigorous monarchy and the Orleans dynasty ; it is now 
doing what it can, in its moderate way, to discredit the 
republicanism of the United States. 

The Gazette de France and the Quotidienne are op- 
posed directly to the present government, and in favor 
of the legitimate monarchy in the person of Henry V. 



THE JOURNALS. 123 

The former advocates royalty with extended suffrage, 
the increase of power in the provinces, and decrease of 
the influence of the capital ; the latter insists upon the 
re-establishment, in its fullest extent, of the ancient 
monarchy. 

The National asserts republicanism outright, on the 
system of the United States. It is conducted with spirit 
and ability, at present, by M. Carel. In assuming his 
office he announced himself in his address as follows: 
a La responsibility du National pese en entier des ce 
jour sur ma seule tele ; si quelq'un s'oublidt en invec- 
tive au sujet de cettefeuille, il trouverait a qui parler." 
With this the paper called the " Tribune," edited also 
with ability, co-operates. 

The Moniteur reports the speeches of the Chambers, 
and official documents, and is the ostensible organ of the 
government. ' The Temps, the Courier, the Messager, 
and Journal du Commerce, all advocate reform on con- 
stitutional principles. There are smaller papers, too, 
conducted with ability. These, with Galignani, and 
some other English prints, make up the newsmongrie of 
Paris. The price of Galignani, and the principal French 
papers, is twenty dollars a year, and their number of 
regular subscribers about 20,000. In Paris they are 
generally read by the hour, and transferred from one 
individual to another, and disposed of in the evening to 
the public establishments, or sent off to the country. In 
this manner they are read by an immense number of 
persons daily. The price of advertising in the best pa- 
pers is about thirty sous per line. 

The first men of the nation are amongst the constant 
contributors to these papers, both as correspondents and 
editors. The editorial corps around each discuss the 
leading topics, and form a board to admit or reject com- 



124 THE CHAMBER OF PEERS. 

munications. These have their daily meetings with the 
functionaries of the state, and their correspondents in 
every foreign country. Argus, with his hundred eyes, 
and Briareus with his hundred hands, preside over the 
preparation of the daily meal. In our country, where 
the same man caters, cooks and does the honors, it would 
be unfair to make any comparison of ability. There is 
one point, however, in which there is no good reason 
why we should allow the French or any other people 
the superiority. It is the decency of language in which 
animated debates are conducted. To be eloquent, or 
even vituperative, it is not necessary to be abusive, or 
transgress the rules of good breeding; polish neither 
dulls the edge nor enervates the vigor of the weapon. 
The existence of agencies between the owners and 
readers of newspapers is an immense gain to the liberty 
of the press. There can be very little freedom of opin- 
ion, where the editor and proprietor, as in the United 
States, stand in immediate relation with their patrons. 

In speaking of the powers of the government, I have 
said nothing of the Chamber of Peers. It is but a feather 
in either scale. It wants the hereditary influence, and great 
estates necessary to command popular respect. The title 
of peer is for life only, and is the reward of prescribed 
services in all the chief employments of the state. It is 
a cheap dignity which pleases grown up children, and 
consists of a ribbon in the button-hole. I have said 
nothing either of Bonapartism, which has gasped its last. 
The most violent enmities against the emperor seem to 
have burnt out. No danger is now apprehended either 
from his family or his partisans, and the mind is open to 
a full sense of the glory he has conferred upon the na- 
tion ; and there is mixed up with admiration of his 
talents a sentiment of affection, from the recollection of 



NAPOLEON. 125 

his great reverses of fortune, and his patient sufferings. 
I have heard all parties speak of him with great respect 
or praise. It is a good policy of the present government 
to have taken into favor all his plans for the improve- 
ment of the country, and to have placed him in his 
citizen's coat, and cocked hat, stripped of its military 
plumes, upon his column. 

When I write politics to ladies, Apollo keeps twitch- 
ing me all the while by the ear ; but I thought any other 
subject to-day would be impertinent. — Yet why should 
ladies be ignorant of what enters so largely into the 
conversation of society; and makes so important a part 
of the learning of their children? 

I am meditating a journey to Rome, and expect to 
set out next week with a gentleman of Kentucky. His 
Holiness, I presume, will be delighted to see some one 
all the way from the Sharp Mountain. Direct your 
letters as usual. Very tenderly yours. 



LETTER VII. 

The Garden of Plants — The omnibus— The Museum of Natural 
History — American birds — The naturalist — Study of entomology 
—The Botanic Garden— Cabinet of Comparative Anatomy — The 
menagerie — The giraffe — Notions of America — The cedar of Leba- 
non — Effects of French cookery — French gastronomy— Goose 
liver pie — Mode of procuring the repletion of the liver. 

Paris, August 14th, 1835. 

Here is an Englishman who has interrupted me 
at the very outset of this letter, and says I must dine 

11* * 



126 GARDEN OF PLANTS. 

with him at the " Garden of Plants." He is a kind 
of public informer, and does the honors of Paris to 
us raw Yankees, just come over. He has on his left 
arm a basket of provisions, a couple of claret-bottles 
exhibiting their slender necks over the margin of the 
basket: and on his right, a lady, his sister, who is to 
accompany us. She is exceeding pretty, with a com- 
plexion of drifted snow, and a rosiness of cheeks — 
I have no comparison only strawberries and cream. 
She is not slow neither, as English women generally, 
to show her parts of speech. " Sir, it is a delightful and 
romantic little spot as there is in the whole city. Only 
two centuries ago it was an open field, and the physi- 
cian of Louis XIII. laid out on it a Botanic Garden; it 
now covers eighty-four acres, partly with wood. Wood 
is so delightful at this hot season ! And there is now a 
botanic garden besides immense conservatories: also a 
splendid gallery of anatomy, of botany, and a mena- 
gerie ; a library, too, of natural history, and laboratories, 
and an amphitheatre, in which there are annually 
thirteen courses of lectures. And then there is the 
School of Drawing and Painting, of Natural History, all 
gratuitous. We will just step into an omnibus on the 
Boulevards, and for six sous we shall be set down at 
the very gate. Oh, it is quite near, only two steps." 
I resign myself to the lady. The excursion will per- 
haps furnish me, what I have great need of, a subject 
for this letter. — Parisian civility never allows one place 
to be far from another. The French women, if the 
place should be at any considerable distance, cannot for 
their little souls tell you. It is always "two steps," 
and under this temptation of " two steps," you are often 
induced into a walk of several miles. If there is any 
one virtue in Paris more developed than another, it is 



PARISIAN DRIVERS. 127 

that of showing strangers the way. A French lady 
asked me the way to-day on the street, and though 
I did not know it, I ran all about showing her, out of 
gratitude. The strangers who reside here soon fall, 
by imitation, into the same kind of civility. The 
Garden of Plants is distant from my lodging about three 
miles. Till to-morrow, adieu. 

August 15th. 

The driver of a cab takes his seat at the side of his 
customer, and is therefore very civil, amiable, talkative, 
and a great rogue. The coachman, on the contrary, is 
a straight up, selfish, and sulky brute, who has no com- 
plaisance for any one born of a woman ; he is not even 
a rogue, for being seated outside, he has no communi- 
cation with the passengers. He gives you back your 
purse if you drop it in his coach : he is the type of the 
omnibus driver. You have your choice of the"Cita- 
dine," which does not stop for way passengers, but at 
its stations at half a mile, or the omnibus, which picks 
you up anywhere on the way. It sets off always at 
the minute, not waiting for a load ; and then you have 
a « correspondence ;" that is, you have a ticket from the 
conducteur at the end of one course, which gives vou a 
passage without additional charge for the next. You 
go all around the world for six sous. You change your 
omnibus three times from the Barriere du Trone, to the 
Barriere de PEtoile, which are at the east and west ex- 
tremities of the city. 

In Paris everybody rides in an omnibus. The Cham- 
ber of Peers rides in an omnibus. I often go out 
in the one the king, before he got up in the world, used 
to ride in. I rode this morning between a grisette with 
a bandbox, and a knight with a decoration. Some of 



128 PLEASURES OF AN OMNIBUS. 

the pleasantest evenings I have spent here were in an 
omnibus, wedged in between the easy embonpoint of a 
healthy pair of Frenchwomen. If you get into melan- 
choly, an omnibus is the best remedy you can imagine. 
Whether it is the queer shaking over the rough pave- 
ment, I cannot say, but you have always an irresistible 
inclination to laugh. It is so laughable to see your face 
bobbing into the face of somebody else; it is so interest- 
ing, too, to know that one's neighbors may be thinking 
about one; and then the strange people, and the strange 
rencontres. I often give six sous just for the comic 
effect of an omnibus. Precipitate jolts against a neigh- 
bor one never saw, as the ponderous vehicle rolls over 
the stones, gives agitation to the blood and brains, and. 
sets one a thinking. And not the least part of the 
amusement is the getting in, especially if all the places 
but the back seat are filled. This back seat is always 
the last to have a tenant. It is a circular board of about 
six inches in diameter at the very farthest end, and to 
reach it, you have to run the gauntlet between two rows 
of knees almost in contact; — you set out, the omnibus 
setting out at the same time, and you get along sitting 
on a lady's lap, now on this side, and now on that, 
until you^arrive at your destination ; and there you are 
set up on a kind of pivot to be stared at by seventeen 
pair of black eyes, ranged along the two sides of the 
omnibus. The only evil I know of these vehicles is, 
that the seat being occupied by seven fat gentlemen, it 
may leave only six inches of space to a lady of two feet in 
diameter, so that she comes out compressed to such a 
degree, as to require a whole day of the enlarging and 
tightening capacities of Madame Palmyre, to get her 
back to her shapes : a worse evil is that you often take 



COLLECTIONS OF NATURAL HISTORY. 129 

an interest in a fellow traveler, from whom you are in a 
few minutes to be separated, perhaps forever! 

We arrived at the garden just time enough before 
our repast to expatiate lightly upon its beauties. We 
visited first the Museum of Natural History, which oc- 
cupies two stories of a building three hundred feet long. 
On the first floor are six rooms of geological and mine- 
ralogical collections; on the second are quadrupeds, 
birds, insects, and all the family of the apes— two hun- 
dred specimens — and groups of crystals, porphyry, na- 
tive gold and silver, rough and cut diamonds. Over- 
looking this whole animal creation is a beautiful statue 
of Venus Urania— hominum divnmque vohtptas ! In 
one apartment is a group of six thousand bifds in all 
their gay and glittering plumage; and there are busts 
about the room in bronze, of Linnaeus, Fourcjoy, Petit, 
Winslow, Tournfort and Daubenton. Our American 
birds here have all got to be members of the Academy. 
You can know them only by their feathers. There would 
be no objection to call our noisy and stupid whip-poor- 
will, "caprimulgus vociferus," but what do you* think 
of calling our plain and simple Carolina wren " troglo- 
dytus ludovicianus ?" 

The insects have a room also to themselves, very snug 
and beautiful in cases, and sparkling like gems in all 
their variety of vivid and fantastic colors. We met here 
a naturalist, an acquaintance, who has lived the chief 
part of his life among spiders' legs, and he explained to" 
us the properties of the insects. He conversed upon 
their tenacity of life. He showed us a mite that had 
lived three months glazed to a bit of glass, and a beetle 
which had been above three years without eating, and 
seemed not particular how long it lived ; a spider also 
which had been kept one year on the same abstemious 



130 A NATURALIST. 

regimen, and yet was going on living as usual. Are you 
not ashamed, you miserable mortals, to be outlived by a 
beetle ? He showed us also flies and spiders sepulchred 
in amber, perhaps since the days of Ninus — how much 
better preserved than the mummied ladies and gentle- 
men who have been handed down to us from the same 
antiquity. And 

" Cages for gnats and chains to yoke a flea, 
Dried butterflies, and tomes of casuistry." 

This professor has been so long in the world of insects 
that he has taken a distaste to big things. I baited him 
with a whale and an elephant, but he would not bite. I 
knew oace a botanist in America, who had turned en- 
tirely into a flower, and I accompanied an entomologist 
of this kind to the brow of one of those cliffs, which 
frown over the floods of the Susquehanna, where one 
could not read Milton, and there he turned up rotten 
logs for grubs and snails for his museum. It seems that 
even the study of nature, when confined to its minute 
particles, does not tend to enlarge or elevate the mind. 
I have observed that the practice even of hunting little 
birds, or fishing for minnows, gives little thoughts and 
appetites ; so to harpoon whales, chase deer, bears, 
wolves and panthers, give a disdain of what is trifling, 
and raise the mind to vast and perilous enterprises. 
The study of entomology, I mean the exclusive study, 
leaves, 1 presume, to the artist about as big a soul as the 
beetle, 

" or the wood-louse 
That folds itself in itself for a house." 

There is a building apart also for the "Botanic 
Garden." It has an herbal of twenty-five thousand 
species of plants. You will see here a very pretty col- 



BOTANIC GARDEN. 131 

lection of the mushrooms in wax — it is delightful to see 
the whole family together. The Cabinet of" Compara- 
tive Anatomy' 5 has also separate lodgings. It contains 
skeletons of all animals compared with man and with 
one another, about twelve thousand preparations. It is 
a population of anatomies ; it looks like nature's labo- 
ratory, or like the beginnings of creation, about the 
second or third day. Here are all the races which 
claim kindred with us, Tartar, Chinese, New Zealander, 
Negro, Hottentot, and several of our Indian tribes. 
Here is a lady wrapped in perpetual virginity and 
handed down to us from Sesostris and the mummy of 
somebody's majesty, that, divested of its wrappings, 
weighs eight pounds, that used to "walk about in 
Thebes' streets three thousand years ago/' We de- 
scanted much upon this wonderful school of nature — 
upon the varieties, analogies, and differences of the 
animal creation. " How strange that the Chinese should 
wear their cues on the top in that way !" said the lady. 
" How differently from us Europeans," said the gentle- 
man. "Only look at this dear little fish!" "Sister, 
don't you think it is time to dine?" — And so we left the 
anatomical preparations for this more grateful prepara- 
tion, the dinner. The great genius of this place, the 
Baron Cuvier, is defunct. He has now a place, for 
aught I know, among his own collections. Alas, the 
skeleton of a baron ! how undistinguishable is a Cabinet 
of Comparative Anatomy ! 

In roaming about we examined superficially the 
garden ; the largest part of which is occupied by the 
menagerie — This is not the reason it is called the 
" Garden of Plants." There are seventeen different 
inclosures, and in each a committee of the several races 
of animals; in one are the huge and pacific, as the 



132 THE MENAGERIE. 

elephants and bisons, in another the domestic, as goats, 
sheep, and deer. The camels are turning a machine 
to supply water — they who were born to dispense with 
this element. In one you will see the wild and fero- 
cious beasts and their dens; as bears, tigars, hyenas, 
and wolves ; and there is a volery containing the vul- 
tures, and eagles, &c. The monkeys are a beautiful 
family, about two hundred in number — their expression 
such as becomes sisters. The remainder of the garden, 
also, is divided into various apartments; one is a botanic 
garden, with six thousand five hundred species of plants; 
another is a collection of different soils, and manures ; 
another contains a specimen of every kind of hedge, 
fence or ditch ; another every culinary vegetable used 
for the food of man ; and another is a piece of water 
appropriated to aquatic plants. 

The whole establishment contains five hundred and 
twenty-six thousand species of plants, minerals and ani- 
mals. In the hot-houses and conservatories are ten 
thousand different species of vegetables. In the midst 
of the birds you see the eagle ; of the quadrupeds, his 
shaggy majesty the king of the beasts, and I observed 
that sober cacique the lama reclining amongst his na- 
tive trees. The most extraordinary of these animals 
(though nothing is extraordinary in Paris for a long 
time) is the giraffe. On her arrival the professors and 
high dignitaries of the state went out to meet her at 
many days' journey from the capital, and deputations 
from all the departments. She was attended by grooms 
and footmen, and "gentlemen of the bed chamber," 
from her native country, and an African cow supplied 
her with African milk. An antelope and three goats 
followed in an open barouche. She was formally in- 
vited to visit the Archbishop at his country seat near 



THE GIRAFFE. 133 

Lyons, but refused ; whereupon his eminence, yielding 
to her claims of respect, went out to meet her, and was 
upset, his coach taking fright at the strange animal, et 
voild, son arislocratie par terre ! A military escort 
also proceeded from Paris, with members of the Insti- 
tute and other learned bodies, which met her at Fon- 
tainbleau, and her entrance to the garden was a trium- 
phal procession, The curiosity of the public had now 
risen to its height (and there is no place where it can 
rise higher than in Paris). From ten to twenty thou- 
sand persons poured into this garden daily. Fresh 
portraits, by eminent artists, and bulletins of everything 
she did remarkable, were published weekly. All the 
bonnets and shoes and gloves and gowns — every species 
of apparel was made a la giraffe; quadrilles were 
danced " a la giraffe." She has large black eyes and 
pretty eyelashes, and the mouth is very expressive. 
In philosophy she is a Pythagorean, and eats maize and 
barley, and is very fond of roses; in religion she is a St. 
Simonian. She takes an airing every morning in the 
park, in fine weather, and wears flannel next her skin 
in winter. 

Our guide now mounted up, we following, by a spiral 
walk to the summit of a hill, where there is a fine pano- 
ramic view of the city. In the centre of the spire is a 
little open kiosque, where we found seats, and a girl en- 
tertained us with choice sights through a telescope, at 
two sous a look. At length, after several little searches 
for a convenient place, we sat ourselves down under- 
neath a hospitable tree, which, from its solemn and vene- 
rable aspect, and from my biblical recollections alone, I 
knew to be the cedar of Lebanon. Here our dinner was 
spread upon the earth. At the bottom of a hill is a 
dairy, which supplied milk, honey, eggs, fruit, and cof- 
vol. i. — 12 



134 AMERICAN RIOTS. 

fee, with the services of the dairy maid ; and, like our 
great ancestor, being seated amidst creation, we partook 
with grateful hearts, our excellent repast — the enjoyment 
being enhanced by occasional conversation. 

" How I should like to pay a visit to your country !" 
"It would give us great pleasure, madam, if you 
would come over." 

" And I also ; the truth is I have a hearty contempt for 
these d — d monkey French people; I can't tell why I 
ever came amongst them." 

" How long have you been here, sir ?" 
" Twenty years — But what terrible accounts are 
coming over about your riots! — why you hang people 
up there, I see, without a trial !" 

" No ; we try them after they are hung." 
" Oh dear ! I should never be able to sleep quiet in 
my bed !" 

"The fact is a republic won't do." 
" Oh dear, no ; why cousin writes us from New York 
that he is coming back ; and he says, if things go on so, 
Europeans will leave off emigrating; that will be bad, 
won't it? (Do let me help you to a little tongue.) 
But perhaps things will get better, America's so young 
yet ; isn't she ? And then your Temperate Societies are 
doing a deal of good ; I read about them this morning. 
1 am very particular about temperance ; (You have no- 
thing in your glass) — and then what Fanny Kemble says 
about the bugs — " 

" Yes ; and the fleas and mosquitoes too ; why it 
seems to me you can't have need of any other kind of 
^ea-bottomy." 

" Oh fie, brother ! — I declare I like the Americans 
very much ; they are so good-natured. — Only look at 
that dear little hen ! — Have you any muffled hens in your 



THE CEDAR OF LEBANON. lS^ 

country — any bantams?" — Thus a whole hour rolled 
by, unheeded in this delightful interchange of sentiment; 
and the universe was created in vain, for any notice we 
took of it, till the end of the dinner. I now turned up 
my eyes upon the hospitable branches, which had af- 
forded us protection during this repast. 

The verdure of this tree is perpetual, and its branches, 
which are fashioned like the goose-quill, are spread out 
horizontally to cover an immense space. It pushes them 
from the trunk gradually upwards, and their outward 
extremity is bent gently towards the earth, so that the 
shelter is complete ; the rain running down the trunk or 
from the tip of these branches. You would easily know 
it was intended as a shelter for some chosen creatures of 
God. From its connection with sacred history, its vene- 
rable appearance, and extraordinary qualities, it is the 
most remarkable tree that grows upon the earth, and 
there is scarce any relic of the Holy Land more sacred. 
It is sung by Isaiah and Solomon ; " Justus florebit sicut 
cedrus Libani." — " The glory of Lebanon, the beauty 
of Carmel, and the abundance of Sarron." It does not 
suffer the presence of any other tree, nor does the small- 
est blade of grass presume to vegetate in its presence. 
It served to build the splendid temples of David and 
Solomon, also Diana's Temple at Ephesus, Apollo's at 
Utica, and the rich citizens of Babylon employed it in 
the construction of their private dwellings. Its wood is 
the least corruptible ; substance of the vegetable world. 
In the temple at Utica, it has been found pure and sound, 
after two thousand years. Its sawdust was one of the 
ingredients used to embalm the dead in Egypt, and an 
oil was extracted from it for the preservation of books. 
Its gum, too, is a specific for several diseases. — Since this 
cedar lives in cold climates, as all the cedar breed, and 



136 ORNAMENTAL GARDENS. 

in unholy as well as holy lands, why does not some one 
induce it to come and live amongst us ? This one was 
brought to this garden by Jussieu in 1734. 

It is a pity such gardens as this are not the growth of 
republics. What an ornament to a city ! At the same 
time what a sublime and pathetic lesson of religious and 
virtuous sentiment ! What more can all the records, and 
commentaries, and polemics of theology teach us than 
this ? — My next visit here shall be alone. Alone, I 
could have fancied myself a patriarch reclining under 
this tree. These camels, on their tread-mill, I could 
have turned into caravans, rich with spices of Araby ; 1 
could have seen Laban's flock in these buffaloes of the 
Missouri, and Rachel herself in the dairy-maid. If you 
take a woman with you, you must neglect the whole 
three kingdoms for her, and she will awake you in your 
most agreeable dreams ; whilst you are admiring the 
order and beauty which reign throughout creation, she 
will stick you down to a muffled hen, or a johnny-jump- 
up ; and while you are seated at the side of Jacob, or 
of some winged angel, she will make you admire the 
" goldfinches, the chaffinches, the bulfinches and the 
greenfinches" * * * We will now adjourn from the 
" King's Garden" to my apartments in the Rue St. 
Anne, where I must leave you, you know how reluc- 
tantly, till to-morrow. I am invited out by Mr. P , 

one of the bravest men of the world from the Missis- 
sippi, who is just going home, and in the grief of sepa- 
ration, has called his friends around him at the " Hotel 
des Princes," to dine. I must trust to the events of a 
new day to fill this remaining sheet. 



a traveler's dinner. 137 

Hue St. Anne, August 15th. 

I have not the courage to describe our gorgeous ban- 
quet; I have an excessive headache. Though I ate of 
nothing but the soup and the fish, and game, and of the 
roasts and ragouts and side dishes, and then the dessert, 
drank scarcely anything but burgundy, medoc and cham- 
pagne, and some coffee, and liqueur, yet I feel quite ill 
this morning. If one should die of the stomach-ache by 
eating a gooseberry pie, I wonder if it is suicide? — 
However, if you want to eat the best dinners in the 
world, I recommend you to the Hotel des Princes, and 
the acquaintance of Mr. P. of the Mississippi. 

It is very much to be feared that in cookery, especially 
the transcendent branches, we shall long remain inferior 
to these refined French people. We have no class of per- 
sons who devote their whole minds to the art, and there 
is nothing to bring talents out into exercise and improve- 
ment. If any one does by force of nature get " out of 
the frying pan," who is there to appreciate his genius ? 
He lives like Bacon, in advance of his age, and even 
runs the risk of dying of hunger in the midst of his own 
dishes. Besides, in America, in cooking, as all things 
else, we weaken our skill by expansion. The chief cook 
in this " Hotel of the Princes," has spent a long life 
upon a single dish, and by this speciality, has not only 
ripened his talent into perfection, but has brought a 
general reputation to the house ; — as you have seen 
persons, by practicing a single virtue, get up a name for 
all the rest. — The English, too, are mere dabblers in this 
science. A French artist, to prepare and improve his 
palate, takes physic every morning, whereas an English- 
man never sees the necessity of taking medicine unless 
he is sick ("que lorsqiC il est malade /") and his palate 
becomes indurated. In this country if a dish miss, or is 

12* 



138 SCIENCE OF FRENCH COOKERY. 

underdone, do you believe that the cook survives it? 
No, he despises the ignominious boon of life without 
reputation — he dies! — The death of Vatel is certainly- 
one of the most pathetic, as well as most heroic events, 
recorded in history. No epicure can read it without 
tears. — " Votre bonte" he said to the prince, who sought 
to console him, " Votre bontk, m'acheve ! — je sais . . je 
sais que le roti a manque' a deux tables !" — He then 
retired to his room! — I cannot go on. Madame Se- 
vigne has given a full account of the tragical man's end. 
I do not, however, approve of French gastronomy in 
everything. The cruelty exercised upon the goose is 
most barbarous. They recollect that a goose once 
brought ruin upon their ancestors in the Capitol, and 
they have no humanity for geese ever since. They for- 
merly nailed the wretch by the feet to a plank, then 
crammed it, and deprived it of water, and exposed it to 
a hot fire (oil elle passait une vie assez malkeureuse), 
until the liver became nearly as large as the goose; 
which, being larded with truffles, and covered with a 
broad paste, bore the name of the inventor with distinc- 
tion through the whole earth. A " Pate de foil gras" 
used to be a monopoly of diplomatic dinners, and it is 
known that a great national congress always assembled 
at Aix-la-Chapelle, on account of the number of geese 
resident in that city ; but they have now spread every- 
where, from the Palais Royal to the very cabins of the 
Alleghany. I saw the whole village of Pottsville hav- 
ing an indigestion of one that was brought in there last 
year. Pray do not touch them unless with the veritable 
brand upon the crust; some make them of gum elastic. 
When genuine they are wholesome, they are intelligen- 
tial ; the ancients used to say proverbially, alienojecore 
sapit. I am glad to see that humanity, in the general 



THE VICTIMS OF JULY. 139 

march of civilization, has interfered in behalf of the 
goose. It is now enclosed immovably in a box, where 
it is crammed with maize and poppy oil, and other suc- 
culent food, and its eyes put out, so that it may give the 
whole of its powers to digestion— as that old Greek phi= 
losopher, who put out his eyes to give the whole mind 
to reflection — and a dropsical repletion of the liver being 
produced by the atony of the absorbents, the liver (the 
only part of a goose that is now of any account in Eu- 
rope) is ready for the market. I received this informa- 
tion over a slice of goose liver pie yesterday, from our 
host, and I was anxious to write it down, while yet 
fresh in memory. — A single idea, you see, may be in- 
flated, by nearly the same process as one of these livers, 
and made to cover a whole page ; I have room only to 
say, I am entirely yours. 



LETTER VIII. 

Burial of the victims—St. Cloud— The chateau— The cicerone— The 
Chevalier-d'Industrie— Grave of Mrs. Jordan— The Bois de Bou- 
logne—Amusements on ftke days— Place Louis XV.— The king at 
the Tuilenes — The American address — His majesty's reply — The 
Princess Amelia— The queen and her daughters — The Dukes of 
Orleans and Nemours— Madame Adelaide — Splendor of ancient 
courts — Manner of governing the French — William the Fourth- 
Exhibition of the students at the University. 

Paris, August 24th, 1835, 

1 believe I have not described to you the burial of 
the " victims," which is no great matter, since you will 



140 MARSHAL MORTIER 5 S COFFIN. 

see it all in the newspapers. I fell in, the other day, with 
an immense crowd passing in a long file through the 
door of a church, and became one of its number. Here 
was a furnace, or chambre ardente, as they call it, into 
which a concealed flame threw a red and lurid light, and 
exhibited the corpses of those who were murdered. 
From this place they were brought out, and carried 
about the streets, in the most gorgeous of all funeral pro- 
cessions. It would have done credit to the best times of 
Babylon. No people of the world can get up a thea- 
trical display of this kind so prettily as the French 5 and 
on this occasion they outdid themselves. The day was 
appointed, four days ahead, when the general grief was 
to explode, and it did explode exactly as the Prefecture 
of Police had predicted. — We all ran about the streets 
the whole day, and cried, " long live" Louis Philippe, 
and General Mortier, who was killed ! 

The duke's coffin was carried in front, by six horses, 
in ail the solemnity of crape. The spokes of the wheels 
were silvered, and the rims glittered with a more pre- 
cious metal. Over head were flags, I presume, taken 
from the enemy, and groups of emblematical figures. 
France with her tresses loose and streaming, and the 
departments all dressed in black frocks, mopping their 
eyes, and pouring out their little souls over the coffin. 
The others of the train, seven or eight, followed at long 
intervals, arrayed in nearly the same style, more or less 
elegant, according to the dignity of the corpses carried 
in them. In the midst was a chariot, as rich as the 
others in decoration, and forming a splendid contrast, of 
dazzling white, and young girls in raiment whiter than 
the snow, following in a long train, chanted hymns to 
their departed sister. — This procession had everything 
but funeral solemnity. I had expected muffled drums 



BEAUTY OF ST. CLOUD. 141 

and dead marches ; and all, but the bell-clappers, silent 
over the face of Paris. The music, on the contrary, was 
thrilling and military; and all the emblems, but the 
crape and coffin, would have served as well for an 
elegant jubilee. The last scene — the entrance into the 
Chapel of the Invalids, and the ceremony there — was 
the most solemn. The church was hung in its blackest 
mourning weeds, and priests, in a long row, said masses 
upon the dead, holding black torches in their hands. 
The floor opened, and the deceased were laid by the 
side of each other in a vault, which closed its marble 
jaws. All Paris spent the day in the procession, and 
in the evening went to the Opera Comique. But I don't 
like funerals : I will write of something else. 

I will tell you of my first excursion to the country. 
Every one who loves eating and drinking and dancing, 
went out yesterday to the fete at St. Cloud— c'est sijolie 
une fete de village! and I went along. The situation 
of this village is very picturesque on the banks of the 
Seine, and commands a delightful prospect of the city 
and environs of Paris. If St. Cloud would not take it 
ill, 1 should like to stay here a month.— There are the 
sweetest little hills, and glades, and cascades imaginable; 
not, indeed, beautiful and poetical as your wild and 
native scenery of Pottsville — one does not wander by 
the mountain torrent, or by the clear stream, such as 
gushes from the flanks of your craggy hills ; nor by the 
"Tumbling Run" that winds its course through the 
intricate valley till it mingles, and murmurs no more, in 
the wizard Schuylkill; nor does one stray through 
forests of fragrant honeysuckles, or gather the wild 
flower from the solitary rock ; but it is sweet, also, to 
see the little fishes cut with their golden oars the silvery 
lake, and to walk upon the fresh-mown turf, and scent 



142 FAVORITE RETREAT OF BONAPARTE. 

the odor from the neighboring hedge ; the rose and 
woodbine, too, are sweet, when nourished by the agri- 
cultural ingenuity and care of man. All that kind of 
beauty, which the fertile earth can receive from the 
hand of a skillful cultivator, is possessed by these little 
hills of St. Cloud, in its most adorable perfection. I 
have listened here to the music of the bees, and in the 
calm and balmy evening, to the last serenade of the 
thrush retiring to its rest. One forgets, in hearing this 
language of his native country, that he is wandering in 
a foreign land ! St. Cloud has, also, an interest in its 
historical recollections. It was burnt once by the 
English ; it was besieged and taken by Conde, in the 
religious wars ; and Henry III. was assassinated here 
by Jacques Clement. It was the favorite of Bonaparte. 
If he resided anywhere, (for ambition has no home,) it 
Vas at St. Cloud. It was here he put himself at the 
head of the government, overthrowing the Directory, in 
1799. — The neighborhood is adorned with magnificent 
villas. The French do not, like the English, plunge from 
the bustle and animation of their city into a lifeless 
solitude; or carry a multitude of guests with them to 
their country seats, to eat them out of house and home, 
as an antidote to the vapors. They select the vicinity 
of some frequented spot, as St. Cloud or Versailles, and 
secure the pleasures of society to their summer resi- 
dences. I believe it is well for one, who wishes to 
make the best of life in all its circumstances, to study the 
French. I am glad that in imitating England in many 
things, (as we ought,) we have not copied her absurd 
whim of living in the country at Christmas. 

The chateau at St. Cloud is an irregular building ; it has 
on its principal front four Corinthian columns, and Jus- 
tice and Prudence and a naked Truth, and some other 



THE CHATEAU. 143 

hieroglyphic ladies are looking down from the balus- 
trade. I had myself conducted through its apartments : 
the salle de compagnie — d* audience — de toilet, and the 
queen's bed-chamber. Only to think, here she used to 
sleep, the little queeny ! They have made her bed just 
two feet high, lest she might fall out and break her ma- 
jesty's neck in the night. The king's apartments are in 
a similar range. The salon de Diane is fine with the 
tapestry of the gobelins, and the grand salon with 
Sevres' China vases. Its crimson velvet hangings cost 
twenty thousand dollars, and its four candelabra six 
thousand. The galerie d'^pollon has paintings by the 
best masters. I admired all these things excessively. 
Every one knows the genealogy of admiration. They 
certainly exceed very far our usual republican notions 
of magnificence. — Thou most unclassical Blucher ! Why 
the fellow slept here, booted and spurred, in the Empe- 
ror's bed, and kenneled his hounds upon the sofa — 
both with an equal sense, I presume, of the sumptuous- 
ness of their lodgings. If, at least, he had put his hounds 
into Diana's saloon, the stupid Goth, he might have had 
some credit for his wit— he can have none for his bru- 
tality. 

I was puzzled about the reward to be given to our 
cicerone. To have all this service for nothing was un- 
reasonable ; and how to offer money to a man with a 
cocked hat, and black velvet breeches — I was in a situa- 
tion exactly the reverse of Alexander the Great towards 
his schoolmaster. What was enough for such a respect- 
able gentleman to receive, was too much for me to give. 
I consulted a French lady; for French ladies know 
everything, and they don't knock you down when you 
ask them a question. — She told me a franc would be as 
much as he would expect. Think of giving a franc for 



144 THE CHEVALIER D'iNDUSTRIE. 

an hour's service, to as good a looking gentleman as 
General Washington ! 

Coming out from the castle, I wandered through the 
park, which contains some hundred acres, diversified 
with hills and valleys, and presenting from an eminence, 
a delightful view of the surrounding country, including 
Paris. On this spot is a " Lantern of Demosthenes," 
copied from the monument of that name at Athens. 
A great part of the park is a public promenade, and is 
chiefly remarkable for its jets d'eaux, which, on a fete 
day, throw up the water sportively in the air, and for its 
numerous cascades, one of which is one hundred and 
twenty-five feet above the level of the basin. I next 
went with a guide into the " Petit Pare," made for 
Marie Antoinette. She bought this chateau (one of her 
sins) just before the Revolution. This park is beautiful 
with bowers, groves, pieces of water, statuary, and every 
imaginable embellishment. In wandering about here, 
1 got acquainted with a nobleman. He is of that order 
of knighthood, which the French call " Chevaliers d'ln- 
dustrie." — " This, sir, I think, is by Pigale, and this Cupid 
by Depautre. Look especially at this Venus by Cous- 
tan." — "Point du tout, Monsieur, I make it a duty, as 
you are a stranger." He liked the Americans exces- 
sively. — " To be the countryman of Franklin, e'est un 
titre /" I seldom ever met a more polite and accom- 
plished gentleman, and fashionable. I had a purse con- 
taining in silver twenty francs, which, being incommo- 
dious to a waistcoat, I had put into an outside coat 
pocket. — Late in the evening, you might have seen me 
returning homewards on foot, (the distance two leagues,) 
not having wherewith to hire a coach, and no money at 
my lodgings. If the devil had not been invented, I should 
have found him out on this occasion. 



MRS. JORDAN. 145 

The verdure of this country is more fresh than ours 
under the dog star. There is a hazy atmosphere, which 
intercepts the rays of the sun and mitigates the heat. I 
don't say a word here in favor of our summer climate 
from conscientious scruples. Indeed I have gained such 
a victory over my patriotism that I never find fault with 
these foreigners for having anything better than we have 
it ourselves ; nor do I take any merit to myself because 
the Mississippi is two miles wide, or because the Nia- 
gara falls with such sublimity into Lake Ontario. 

I was introduced by a mere accident to a Scotch lady 
of this village, who prevailed on my modesty to dine 
with her. She is a lady of experience and great affa- 
bility who has resided here and in Paris eleven years. 
She is on a furlough from her husband, an Englishman 
She showed me the cathedral, the cemetery, and the 
grave of one, who won princes by her smile, Mrs. Jor- 
dan. She asks a repetition of the visit, and is too ami- 
able and accomplished to be refused. She is at least 
forty-five ; in the " ambush of her younger days" the 
invitation would not have been safe for the visitor. 

On my return I walked through the Bois de Bou- 
logne, where you and romantic Mary have so often as- 
sisted at a duel. It was in the glimmerings of the twi- 
light, and now and then looking through a vista of the 
tangled forest, I could see distinctly a ghost pulling a 
trigger at another ghost, or pushing carte and tierce at 
his ribs. This forest flanks the west side of the Fau- 
bourgs of Paris, and contains seventeen hundred acres 
of ground ; in some parts an open wood, in others an 
intricate and impenetrable thicket. It is the fashionable 
drive for those who have coaches in the morning, and 
a solitary enough walk for one who has no coach of an 
evening. Young girls always find saddled at the east 
vol. i. — 13 



146 GIRLS LEARNING TO RIDE. 

end a number of donkeys, upon which they take a 
wholesome exercise, and acquire the elements of equita- 
tion at three sous a ride. Some who have " witched 
the world with noble horsemanship," have begun upon 
these little asses. 

I had the light only of the gentle moonbeam to direct 
my footsteps through the latter part of this forest ; and 
I walked speedily, recollecting I should not be the first 
man who was murdered here, by a great many. I 
feared to meet some rogue ignorant that I was robbed 
already, so 1 went whistling along, (for men who have 
money don't whistle,) till I arrived at the Champs Ely- 
sees— its lamps sparkling like the starry firmament. An 
hour sooner I should have found it alive with all sorts of 
equipages ; with all the landaus, tilburys, and bogueys, 
and other private vehicles, and footmen glittering in 
golden coats, with feathers waving on their empty heads, 
whilst the edges of the road would have been fringed 
with ten thousand pedestrians on their evening walks. 
Now there were a few only in attendance upon Fran- 
coni's, or the concert. In the former of these places they 
exhibit melo-dramas, and equestrian feats, in which the 
riding ladies only outstrip what we see in our own coun- 
try. In the latter there is a band of near a hundred 
musicians, who charm all the world at twenty sous a 
piece, playing the fashionable airs from six till nine every 
evening. Innumerable cafes around pour out the fra- 
grant nectar to their guests. 

For an image of this place you need not read Virgil's 
sixth book, or refer to any of your classical associations. 
Fancy only, without a single inequality, a horizontal 
plain of an hundred or more acres, or rather a barren 
moor, a ball-alley, a baked and turfless common, or any 
rr:03t trodden spot nr/oa the earth, and that is the French 



THE CHAMPS ELYSEES. 147 

Elysium. Not a blade of grass, or shrub or flower 
dares grow upon its surface. The trees are straining 
and trying to grow, but cannot. Yet it is precisely to this 
barren field that all the world comes, especially on fete 
days, to be perfectly delighted. It is surrounded by the 
city and has an air of country in town. It is a kind of 
republican turn-out, where one may go as one pleases, 
without toilet or any troublesome respect to etiquette. 
It is a refuge always at hand from an uncomfortable 
home — from a scold or a creditor; it cures husbands of 
their wives, old bachelors of the vapors, and sometimes 
lovers of their sweethearts. On Sundays and holidays 
you will find here, of foolishness, all that you have ever 
seen, all that you have ever fancied, and if there is any- 
thing of this kind you have never seen or fancied, it is 
here. Besides the concert and the circus, and fresco 
dances, here are all the jugglers and their tricks, mounte- 
banks and their medicines, clowns and their fooleries, 
all the family of the Punches, and all the apes in regi- 
mentals; not counting the voltigeurs without legs, and 
the blind girls, who see to walk over eggs without 
breaking them. You may have a stage if you love to 
play harlequin, or a greasy pole if you wish to climb for 
a prize at the top of it. You may sit down on a swing 
like a water-wheel, which will toss you fifty feet in the 
air, where you may run from yourself and after yourself 
by the hour ; or on another which will whirl you about 
horizontally on hobby horses till you become invisible. 
If thirsty you may have an ice cream, if studious a 
chair and a newspaper, and if nervous a shock of elec- 
tricity worth two sous. Moreover, you can buy cakes 
reeking hot that were baked a week ago, and a stick of 
barley sugar, only a little sucked by the woman's baby, 
at half its value. 



148 ADDRESS TO THE KING. 

On the outskirts towards night you may find also an 
opportunity of exercising your charity and other bene- 
volent affections. One poor woman is getting a living 
here by the dropsy, and another by nine orphan children 
and such like advantages ; one has lost the use of her 
limbs and is running about with a certificate; and there 
is one, who has been eight months gone since eleven 
years. In coming out by the side next the city you are 
at once upon the Place Louis XV., where you will see 
on their pedestals two superb and restive coursers, which 
tread on air held in with difficulty by their two marble 
grooms. We are again upon St. Anne's street, and 
under the protection of her sainted wings I repose till 
to-morrow, bidding you an affectionate good night. 

August 25th. 

I called a few days ago upon the king. We Yankees 
went to congratulate his majesty for not being killed on 
the 28th. We were overwhelmed with sympathy — and 
the staircase which leads up to the royal apartments, is 
very beautiful, and has two Ionic columns just on the 
summit. You first enter through a room of white and 
plain ground, then through a second hung round with 
awful field marshals, and then you go through a room 
very large, and splendid with lustres, and other elegant 
furniture, which conducts into a fourth with a throne and 
velvet canopy. The king was very grateful, at least he 
made a great many bows, and we too were very grate- 
ful to Providence for more than a couple of hours. — 
There was the queen, and the two little princesses — but 
I will write this so that by embroidering it a little you 
may put it in the newspapers. 

The chamber of Peers and Deputies and other func- 
tionaries of the State were pouring in to place, at the 



THE AMERICAN CONSUL. 



foot of the throne, the expression of their loyally. This 
killing. of the king has turned out very much to his ad- 
vantage. There was nothing anywhere but laudatory 
speeches, and protestations of affection— foreigners from 
all the countries of Europe uniting in sympathy with 
the natives. So we got ashamed of ourselves, we Ame- 
ricans, and held a meeting in the Rue Rivoli, where we 
got up a procession, too, and waited upon his majesty for 
the purpose above stated, and were received into the 
presence — the royal family being ranged around the 
room to get a sight of us. Modesty forbids me to speak 
of the very eloquent manner in which we pronounced 
our address; to which the king made a very appropriate 
reply. " Gentlemen, you can better guess" said be, " than 
I can express to you the gratification,' 7 &c— I missed 
ail the rest by looking at the Princess Caroline's most 
beautiful of all faces, except the conclusion, which was 
as follows: " And I am happy to embrace this occasion 
of expressing to you all, and through you, to your coun- 
trymen, the deep gratitude I have ever felt for the kind- 
ness and hospitality I experienced in America during my 
misfortunes." The king spoke in English, and with an 
affectionate and animated expression, and we were 
pleased all to pieces. So was Louis Philippe, and so 
was Marie Jlrnelie, princess of the two Sicilies, his wife ; 
and so was Marie-Christine-Caroline-Adelaide-Fran- 
goise-Leopo2dine,B.nd Marie-Clementine-Caroline-Leo- 
poldint-Clotilde y her two daughters, and the rest of the 
family. 

A note from the king's aid-de-camp, required the 
presence of our consul at the head of the deputation, 
which our consul refused. He did not choose, he said, 
to see the Republic make a fool of herself, running 
about town, and tossing up her cap because the king 

13* 



150 DESCRIPTION OF LOUIS PHILIPPE. 

was not killed, and he would not go. " Then/ 5 said the 
king (a demur being made by his officers), " I will re- 
ceive the Americans, as they received me, without fuss 
or ceremony." So we got in without any head, but not 
without a long attendance in the ante-chamber, very 
inconvenient to our legs. How we strolled about during 
this time, looking over the nick-nacks, and how some of 
us took out our handkerchiefs, and knocked the dust off 
our boots in the salle des martchaux, and how we re- 
clined upon the royal cushions, and set one leg to ride 
impatiently on the other, I leave to be described by 
Major Downing, who was one of our party. I will bring 
up the rear of this paragraph with an anecdote, which 
will make you laugh. One of our deputation had 
brought along a chubby little son of his, about sixteen. 
He returned, (for he had gone ahead to explore,) and 
said in a soft voice, " Tommy, you can go in to the 
throne, but don't go too near." And then Tommy set 
off with velvet steps, and approached, as you have seen 
timid old ladies to a blunderbuss; — he feared it might 
go off. 

The king is .a bluff old man with more firmness of 
character, sense and activity, than is indicated by his 
plump and rubicund features. The queen has a very 
unexceptionable face : her features are prominent, and 
have a sensible, benevolent expression— a face not of 
the French cut, but such as you often meet amongst the 
best New England faces. Any gentleman would like 
to have such a woman for his mother. The eldest 
daughter is married to the King of Belgium ; the second 
anct third are grown up to manhood, but not yet mar- 
ried. They would be thought pretty girls even by your 
village beaux, and with you ladies, except two or three, 
(how many are you?) they would be "stuck up things, 
no prettier than their neighbors." The Duke of Orleans 



ANCIENT REGAL SPLENDOR. 151 

is a handsome young man, and so spare and delicate as 
almost to call into question his mother's reputation. 
He assumes more dignity of manner than is natural to a 
Frenchman at his age ; he is not awkward, but a little 
stiff; his smile seems compulsory and more akin to the 
lips than to the heart. Anybody else would have 
laughed out on this occasion. He has been with the 
army in Africa, and has returned moderately covered 
with laurels. The Duke of Nemours is just struggling 
into manhood, and is shaving to get a beard as assidu- 
ously as his father to get rid of it. He also has fought 
valiantly somewhere — I believe in Holland. Among 
the ladies there is one who pleases me exceedingly; it 
is Madame Adelaide, the king's sister. She has little 
beauty, but a most affable and happy expression of 
countenance. She was a pupil of Madame Genlis, who 
used to call her " cette belle et bonne Princesse" She 
was married secretly to General Athelin, her brother's 
secretary, during their residence in England. She 
revealed this marriage, with great fear of his displeasure, 
to her brother, after his accession to the throne, throwing 
herself on her knees. — After some pause he said, em- 
bracing her tenderly: "Domestic happiness is the 
main thing after all ; and now that he is the king's 
brother-in-law we must make him a duke." Madame 
Adelaide is in the Indian summer of her charms. 

One who knows royalty only from the old books, 
necessarily looks about for that motley gentleman the 
king's fool. The city of Troyes used to have a mono- 
poly of supplying this article, but the other towns, I have 
heard, grew jealous of the privilege, and they have them 
now from all parts of the kingdom. Seriously the 
splendor of ancient courts has faded away wonderfully 
in every respect. When Sully went to England, says 



15g POLICY OF LOUIS PHILIPPE* 

the history, he was attended by two hundred gentlemen^ 
and three hundred guns saluted him at the Tower. 
The pomp and luxury of drawing rooms, and levees, 
were then most gorgeous. The eye was dazzled with 
the glittering display, nothing but yeomen of the guards 
with halberds, and wearing hats of rich velvet, plumed 
like the peacock, with wreaths and rosettes in their 
shoes ; and functionaries of the law, in black gowns 
and full wigs, and bishops, and other church dignitaries, 
in aprons of black silk; and there were knights of the 
garter, the lord steward, the lord chancellor, and the 
Lord knows who. And the same grandeur and bril- 
liancy in the French courts — chambellans, and ecuyers, 
and aumoniers, all the way down to the chauf-cire, and 
keeper of the royal hounds; and one swam in a sea of 
gems and plumes, and sweet and honeyed ladies. Re- 
publicanism has set her irreverent foot upon all this 
regal splendor. I wish I had come over a hundred 
years ago. The king's salary before the Revolution, 
though provisions were at half their present rate, was 
thirty millions, that of Charles X. was twenty-five ; and 
the present king's is only twelve millions, with one mil- 
lion to the Duke of Orleans. 

1< and Louis Philippe do not agree altogether about 
the manner in which the French people ought to be 
governed. The censorship of the press, the espionage, 
the violation of private correspondence, the jail and the 
gibbet, will not arrest the hand of the regicide. I have 
read in a journal to day, that 2746 persons have already 
been imprisoned for having censured the acts of the 
present government, in the person of the king. The 
devil will get, his Most Christian Majesty if he goes on 
at this rate. Why don't he learn that the strength of 
kings, in these days, is in their weakness? Why don't 



REPUBLICAN INSTITUTIONS. 153 

he set up Mr. Thiers, and then Mr. Guizot, and then 
Mr. Thiers again, as they do in England? Look at 
King William- — does anybody shoot him? and yet he 
rides out with four cream-colored horses, with blue 
eyes, every day, and sometimes he walks into the 
Hungerford Market, and asks the price of shrimps. 
Louis plays a principal part in all his measures, even 
his high-handed measures. If he makes himself a target, 
he must expect to be shot at. In the beginning of his 
reign, he played the liberal too loosely. " Why talk of 
censorship ?" said he — " il n'y aura plus de delits de 
la presse" — " I am but a bridge to arrive at the Re- 
public." With his present acts, this language is in 
almost ludicrous contrast. He is a Jacobin turned king, 
say his enemies ; and we must expect he will run the 
career of all renegades. I have not described his 
disasters and dangers in a lamentable tone, because I 
don't choose to affect a sympathy I do not feel. He 
had a quiet and delightful habitation at Neuilly ; and 
since he has not preferred it to this " bare picket bone 
of majesty" at the Tuileries, let him abide the conse- 
quences. However, I shall be one of those who will 
deplore his loss, from the good will I bear the French 
people, for I have not the least doubt that, with twenty 
years' possession of the throne, he will bring them, in 
all that constitutes real comfort and rational liberty, to a 
degree of prosperity unknown to their history. — Remem- 
ber I am talking French, not American politics. To 
infer from the example of America, that the institutions 
of a Republic may be introduced into these old govern- 
ments of Europe, requires yet the "experiment" of 
another century. If we can retain our democracy when 
our back woodlands are filled up, when New York and 
Philadelphia have become a London and Paris ; when 



1 54 UNIVERSITY EXHIBITIONS. 

the land shall be covered with its multitudes, struggling 
for a scanty living, with passions excited by luxurious 
habits and appetites ; if we can then maintain our uni- 
versal suffrage, and our liberty, it will be fair and 
reasonable enough in us to set ourselves up for the imi- 
tation of others. Liberty, as far as we yet know her, 
is not fitted to the condition of these populous and 
luxurious countries. Her household gods are of clay, 
and her dwelling where the icy gales of Alleghany sing 
through the crevices of her hut. 

I have spent a day at the exhibition of the students 
of the University, which was conducted with great 
pomp. There was a concour for prizes, and speeches 
in the learned languages— nothing but clarissimi and 
eruditissimi Thiers and Guizots. Don't you love 
modern Latin ? I read, the other day, an ode to "Han- 
nse Morae ;" and I intend to write one, some of these 
days, to Miss Kittse and Nellae, of Pine Hill. Apropos — 
what of the Girard College ? when are they to choose 
the^ professors ? and who are the trustees ? I must be 
recommended tocao avdgoftoiac peyahousi,* Good-night. 



TOUR OF PARIS. 155 



LETTER IX. 

Tour of Paris— The Seine — The Garden of Plants — The animals- 
Island of St. Louis — The Halle aux Vins — The police—Palais de 
Justice — The Morgue — Number of suicides — M. Perrin — The Hotel 
de Ville — Place de Greve — The Pont Neuf — Quai des Augustins — 
The Institute— Isabeau de Baviere — The Bains Vigiers — The Pont 
des Arts — The washerwomen's fete — Swimming-schools for both 
sexes — The Chamber of Deputies — Place de la Revolution — Obe- 
lisk of Luxor — Hospital of the Invalids — Ecole militaire — The 
Champ de Mars — Talleyrand. 

September 14th, 1835. 

After the nonsense of my last letter I almost de- 
spair of putting you in a humor to enjoy the serious 
matter likely to be contained in this. I have just re- 
turned from an excursion on foot from the one end to 
the other of Paris ; making, as a sensible traveler ought 
to do, remarks upon the customs, institutions, and monu- 
ments of the place ; and here I am with a sheet of 
double post to write you down these remarks. I would 
call it a classical tour, but I have some doubts whether 
walking in a straight line is a tour, and therefore I have 
called it simply a journal. 

I had for my companion the Seine — he was going for 
sea-bathing to the Havre. His destination thence no 
more known than ours, when we float into eternity. 
Some little wave may, however, roll till it reach the 
banks of the Delaware, and who knows, that lifted into 
vapor by the sun, it may not spread in rains upon the 
Broad Mountain, and at last deh'ght your tea tables at 



156 THE SEINE. 

Pine Hill. I send you a kiss ; and in recommending 
the river to your notice, I must make you acquainted 
with his history. 

Most rivers except the Seine, and perhaps the Nile, 
have a high and noble descent — this, as I have read in 
a French author, runs out of a hole in the ground in the 
flat and dirty country of the Cote d'Or ; it was contained 
once in a monk's kitchen near Dijon, and began the 
world like Russian Kate, by washing the dishes. At 
Paris it is called by the polite French the Fleuve royale. 
Any stream in this country which is able to run down a 
hill is called a river — this, of course, is a royal river. It 
receives a pretty large share of its bigness from the 
Marne and Yonne, and some other streams, (for rivers, 
like great men, are not only great of their own merits, 
but by appropriating that of others,) and is itself again 
lost in the great ocean. It is the most beneficent river 
on the Continent — it distributes water, one of the ele- 
ments of life, to near a million of people, and it gives 
some to the milk-woman, who furnishes me with cafe 

au lait No. , in the Faubourg St. Germain, (where 

you will direct your letters from this date.) It is re- 
ceived in its debut into Paris magnificently — the Garden 
of Plants being on the left, and the great avenue of the 
Bastille and the elephant on its right, and overhead, five 
triumphal arches, which were erected for its reception 
by Bonaparte, sustaining the superb bridge of Austerlitz. 
And here commences my journal. 

At twelve I left the Garden of Plants, with only a 
peep through the railings. One cannot go inside here 
without stumbling against all creation. The whole of 
the three kingdoms — animal, vegetable, and mineral — 
are gathered into this garden from the four corners of 
the earth,. as they were when Adam baptized them. I 



THE AMERICAN ACACIA. 157 

observed a great number of plants growing out of the 
ground as fast as they could, and little posts standing 
prim and stiff along side of them, to tell you their names 
in Apothecaries' Latin — I mean their modern names — • 
those they got at the great christening have been entirely 
lost, and Monsieur de Buffon and some others have been 
obliged to hunt them new ones out of the dictionary. I 
did go in a little and stood along side of an American 
acacia — conceiting, for a moment, I was on my native 
earth again, and so I was — for the tree was transplanted 
from the Susquehanna, and the soil was brought with it. 
It would not otherwise grow out of its native country. 
— Alas, do you expect that one's affections, so much 
more delicate, will not pine and wither away, where 
there is not a particle of their native aliments to support 
them ! I looked a long time upon a cedar of Lebanon 
— it stands like a patriarch in the midst of his family, 
its broad branches expanded hospitably, inviting the 
traveler to repose. Along the skirts of the garden, one 
sees lions, and tigers, and jackals, and an elephant — a, 
prisoner from Moscara, lately burnt by the Grand Army. 
Several elephants fought and bled for their country on 
that occasion, and this is one of them. And finally, I 
saw what you have never seen in America, a giraffe, a 
sort of quadruped imitation of an ostrich, its head twenty 
feet in the air ; and there were a great number of chil- 
dren and their dear little mammas giving it gingerbread. 
Deers were also stalking through the park — but in gra- 
cility and sleekness how inferior to ours of the Maho- 
noy ! and several bears were chained to posts, but not a 
whit less bearish, nor better licked, though brought up in 
Paris, than ours of the Sharp Mountain. I could not 
help looking compassionately at a buffalo, who stood 
thoughtful and melancholy under an American poplar ; 

VOL. I. 14 



158 ISLANDS OF ST. MARTIN AND ST. LOUIS. 

his head hanging down, and gazing upon the earth. He 
had perhaps left a wife and children, and the rest of the 
family on the banks of the Missouri ! Wherever the 
eye .strayed, new objects of interest were developed. 
Goats afar off were hanging upon cliffs, as high as a 
man's head ; and sheep from foreign countries (poor 
things !) were bleating through valleys — six feet wide ! 
All the parrots in the world were here prating • and 
whole nations of monkeys, imitating the spectators. 
Nothing in all this Academy of Nature, seemed to draw 
such general admiration as these monkeys, and these 
parrots. What a concourse of observers ! It is so strange 
in Paris to hear words articulated without meaning, and 
see grimaces that have no communication with the heart. 

Just in leaving the Garden, the Seine has lent some 
of its water to St. Martin, to make an island — saints not 
being able to make islands without this accommodation. 
This island of St. Martin is covered, during summer, 
with huge piles of wood, ingeniously arranged into py- 
ramids and conic sections. Some of the piles are built into 
dwellings, and let out for the warm season ; so you can 
procure here a very snug little summer retreat, and burn 
your house to warm your toes in the winter. I ought to 
tell you, (for acute travelers never let anything of this 
kind slip,) that wood is here two sous a pound. That 
old woman, the government, is very expensive in her 
way of living, and the moment she finds any article of 
first necessity, as salt or fuel, &c, she claps a tax upon 
it. Besides, all that money, which your rail-road fana- 
tics about Schuylkill, lay out in contrivances to carry 
your coal to market, she lays out in new frocks — and 
this is the reason wood is two cents a pound. 

A little onward I stepped upon the quiet and peaceful 
island of St. Louis — quiet ! and yet it is inhabited by 



l'isle de la cite. 159 

nearly all the lawyers of Paris. St. Louis is the only 
saint that has not left off doing miracles. The noisy 
arts will not venture on it, though four bridges have 
been made for their accommodation. It reminds one of 
that world of Ovid's where everything went off to 
Heaven except.Justice. — Astrsea ultima. Like all other 
places of Paris this island has its curiosities and monu- 
ments. You will find here the ancient Hotel de Mimes, 
its ceilings painted by Lebrnn and Lesueur, now a lum- 
ber-house for soldiers and their iron beds, and if you 
give a franc to the cicerone (the porter and his wife) you 
can get him to tell you that Bonaparte was hid here for 
two days after the battle of Waterloo. He will show 
you, if you seem to doubt, the very paillasse, upon which 
the Emperor, whilst the allies were marching into Paris, 
slept. You will find here also some imperishable ruins 
of Lebrun and Lesueur, in the once famous Hotel de 
Bretonvilliers, now venerable for its dirt, as well as its 
antiquity. 

I admired awhile the « Halle aux Vins" one of the 
curiosities, of the left bank, enclosed on three sides by 
a wall, and on the side of the Seine, by an iron railing 889 
yards. It contains 800,000 casks of wine and spirits, from 
which are drawn annually for the use of Paris, twenty 
millions of gallons. France, by a cunning legislation, 
prevents this natural produce of her soil escaping from 
the country, by laying a prohibitory duty upon the in- 
dustry of other nations, which would enable them to 
purchase it ; so we have the whole drinking of it to our- 
selves, and we oblige John Bull to stick to his inflam- 
matory Port and Madeira. 

L'isle de la CiU comes next ; the last but not the least 
remarkable of the three sister islands, called the Island 
of the Cite, because once all Paris was here, and there 



160 NOTRE DAME. 

was no Paris anywhere else. Antony used to quaff old 
Falernian on this island with Caesar, and run after the 
grisette girls and milliners, whilst they sent Labienus to 
look after Dumnorix ; and here in a later age came the 
gay and gartered earls ; knights in full panoply ; fashion- 
able belles in rustling silks, and the winds brought deli- 
cate perfumes on their wings. At present no Arabic 
incense is wasted upon the air of this island. Filth has 
set up her tavern here, and keeps the dirtiest house of 
all Paris. But in the midst of this beggary of comfort 
and decency, are glorious monuments which the rust of 
ages has not yet consumed; the Hotel Dieu, Palais de 
Justice, and Prasfecturale of Police ; and I had like to 
have forgotten that majestic old pile with fretted roofs 
and towers pinnacled in the clouds, with Gothic win- 
dows, and grizzly saints painted on them, 

" So old, as if she had forever stood, 

. So strong as if she would forever stand," 

whose bells at this moment are tolling over the dead, 
the venerable, the time-honored Notre Dame de Paris. 
This old lady is the queen of the cite. Her corner-stone 
was laid by Pope Alexander III., upon the ruins of an 
old Roman temple of Jupiter, in 1163. So you see she is 
a very reverend old lady. Her bell is eight feet in dia- 
meter, and requires sixteen men to set its clapper in mo- 
tion. On entering this church, the work of so many 
generations, in contemplating its size, the immense height 
of its dome and roofs, and the huge pillars which sustain 
them, with the happy disposition and harmony of all 
these masses, one is seized with a very sudden reverence, 
and a very modest sense of one's own littleness; and 
yet a minute before one looked upon the glorious sun, 
and walked under " this most excellent canopy" almost 



THE PALAIS DE JUSTICE. 161 

without astonishment. You will see here, at all hours 
of the day, persons devoutly at their beads, intent on 
their prayer-books, or kneeling at the cross. Except on 
days of parade, you will see almost six women to one 
man ; and these rather old. Women must love some- 
thing. When the day of their terrestrial affections has 
faded, their loves become celestial. When they can't love 
anything else, why they love God. " Aime Dieu, Saint e 
Therese, c'est toujour aimer." The Emperor Julian 
stayed a winter on this island, at which time the river 
washed (not the Emperor,* but) the base of the walls 
of the city ; and Paris was accessible only by two wooden 
bridges. He called it his Lutetia, tqv $t%qv Awxttiavi 
his beloved city of mud. 

The Palais de Justice, or Lit de Justice, as the 
French appropriately call it, (for the old lady does some- 
times take a nap,) is a next door neighbor. This palace 
lodged, long ago, the old Roman Prsefects ; the kings of 
the first race, the counts of Paris under the second, and 
twelve kings of the third. The great Hotel Dieu, or 
Hospital, counts all the years between us and King 
Pepin, about twelve hundred. It is a manly, solid and 
majestic building ; its fagade is adorned with Doric 
columns, and beneath the entablature, are Force, Pru- 
dence and Justice, and several other virtues " stupe- 

* We learn from tradition that Julian never washed hands or face, 
or suffered any kind of ablution, unless, perhaps, at his christening. 
In a word he was a very dirty emperor. Is it not strange that his 
"Baths" should be the only monument remaining of him in Paris'? 
I presume they are named ironically, or from the old rule of non la- 
vando. The following anecdote is apropos to this subject. "His 
steward one day brought him a beautiful maid, bathed and richly per- 
fumed, and his majesty, having discovered it, quando tetigisset, et digit- 
os suos odoratus esset, he exclaimed : " Diable! Us rn'ont gate cettefemme 
id /" You will find this in the French notes to Julian's Misopogon. 

14* 



162 THE POLICE. 

lied in stone." But I will give you a more particular 
account of it, as well as of the right worshipful Notre 
Dame, and the Palace, when I write my book about 
Churches, Hospitals, and the Courts of Justice. I will 
only remark now that I visited this great hospital a few 
days ago, and that I saw in it a thousand beds, and a 
poor devil stretched out on each bed, waiting his turn to 
be dispatched; that the doctor came along about six, 
and prescribed a bouillon el un lavement to them all 
round; a hundred or two of students following after, of 
whom about a dozen could approach the beds, and when 
symptoms were examined, and legs cut off, or some sur- 
gical operation performed, the others listened. 

But it would be ungrateful in me to pass without a 
special notice, the Prsefecturafe of Police. If I now 

lodge in the Rue D'Enfer, No. , looking down upon 

the garden of Luxembourg, and having my conduct 
registered once a week in the king's books ; if I have 
permission to abide in Paris ; and above all, if ever I 
shall have the permission to go out of it ; whither am I to 
refer these inestimable privileges, but to the never-sleep- 
ing eye of the Prsefecturate of Police? But the merits of 
this institution are founded upon a much wider scheme 
of benefits; for which I am going to look into my Guide 
de Paris. It " discourages pauperism" by sending most 
of the beggars out of Paris, to besiege the Diligence on 
the highways ; and gives aid to dead people by fishing 
them out of the Seine at 25 francs a piece into the 
Morgue. It protects personal safety by entering private 
houses in the night, and commits all persons taken in the 
fact [flagrant dtlit) ; it preserves public decency by 
removing courtesans from the Palais Royal to the Boule- 
vards, and other convenient places; and protects his 
most Christian Majesty by seizing upon "Infernal Ma- 



THE MORGUE. 163 

chines," just after the explosion. In a word, this Prse- 
fecturate of Police, with only 500,000 troops of the line 
and the National Guard, encourages all sorts of public 
morals at the rate of seven hundred million francs per 
annum, besides protecting commerce by taking gentle- 
men's cigars out of their pockets at Havre. 

Towards the south and west of the island you will 
see a little building distinguished from its dingy neigh- 
bors by its gentility and freshness. It stands retired by 
the river side modestly, giving a picturesque appear- 
ance to the whole prospect, and a relief to the giant 
monuments which I have just described. This building 
is the Morgue. If any gentleman, having lost his money 
at Frascati's — or his health and his money too at the 
pretty Flora's — or if any melancholy stranger lodging 
in the Rue D'Enfer, absent from his native home and the 
sweet affections of his friends, should find life insup- 
portable, (there are no disappointed loves in this coun- 
try,) he will lie in state next morning at the Morgue. 
Upon a black marble table he will be stretched out, and 
his clothes, bloody or wet, will be hung over him, and 
there he will be kept (except in August, when he won't 
keep) for three whole days and as many nights ; and if 
no one claims him, why then the King of the French sells 
him for ten francs to the doctors ; and his clothes, after 
six months, belong to Francois the steward, who has 
them altered for his dear little children, or sells them for 
second hand finery in the market. 

One of these suicides, as I have read in the Revue de 
Paris, was claimed the other day by his affectionate 
uncle, as follows. A youth wrote to his uncle that he 
had lost at gambling certain sums entrusted to him, in 
his province, to pay a debt in Paris, and that he was 
unwilling to survive the disgrace. The uncle recognized 



164 NUMBER OF SUICIDES. 

him, and buried him with becoming ceremony at Pere la 
Chaise. In returning home from this solemn duty, the 
youth rushed into his uncle's arms, and they hugged and 
kissed, and hugged each other to the astonishment of the 
spectators. It is so agreeable to see one's nephews after 
one has buried them, jump about one's neck ! 

The annual number of persons who commit suicide 
in all France I have seen stated at two thousand. Those 
who came to the Morgue in 1822, were 260. Is it not 
strange that the French character, so flexible and fruit- 
ful of resources in all circumstances of fortune, should 
be subject to this excess? And that they should kill 
themselves, too, for the most absurd and frivolous 
causes.— One, as I have read in the journals, from dis- 
gust at putting on his breeches in the cold winter morn- 
ings — and two lately (Ecousse and Lebrun) because a 
farce they had written did not succeed at the play house. 
The authors chose to incur the same penalty in the 
other world that was inflicted on their vaudeville in 
this. And these Catos of Utica are brought here to the 
Morgue. The greater part are caught in the Seine, by 
a net stretched across the river at St. Cloud. Formerly 
twenty-five francs were given for a man saved, and 
twenty if drowned ; and the rogues cheated the govern- 
ment of its humanity by getting up a company, who 
saved each other time about by collusion. The sum is 
now reversed, so that they always allow one time, and 
even assist one a little sometimes, for the additional five 
francs. The building, by the advance of civilization, 
has required, this season, to be repaired, and a new 
story is added. Multitudes, male and female, are seen 
going in and out at every hour of the day. You can 
stop in on your way as you go to the flower market, 
which is just opposite. There is a lady at the bureau 



M. PERRIN. . 165 

who attends in her father's absence the sale and recog- 
nition of the corpses, and who plays the piano and 
excels in several of the ornamental branches. 

She was crowned- at the last distribution of prizes, 
and is the daughter of the keeper, Mr. Perrin. He has 
four other daughters, who also give the same promise 
of accomplishment. Their morals do not run the same 
risk as most other children's, of being spoilt by a bad 
intercourse from without. Indeed they are so little used 
to associate abroad, that, getting into a neighbor's the 
other day, they asked their playmates, running about 
through the house, " Where does your papa keep his 
dead people?" Innocent little creatures! Mr. Perrin 
is a man of excellent instruction himself, and entertains 
his visitors with conversations literary and scientific, and 
he writes a fine round text hand. When a new corpse 
arrives he puts himself at his desk, and with a graceful 
flourish enters it on the book ; and when not claimed at 
the end of three days, he writes down in German text, 
" inconnu;" if known, " conna" The exhibition room 
is, since its enlargement, sufficient for the ordinary 
wants of society ; but on emergencies, as on the " three 
glorious days," and the like, they are obliged to accom- 
modate a part of the corpses elsewhere. They have 
been strewed, on these occasions, over the garden ; and 
Miss Perrin has to take some in her room. — Alas, that 
no state of life should be exempt from its miseries! 
You who think to have propitiated fortune by the 
humility of your condition, come hither and contem- 
plate Mr. Perrin. Only a few years ago, when quietly 
engaged in his official duties, his own wife came in with 
the other customers. He was struck with horror; and 
he went to his bureau and wrote down " connu /" 

The notorious Hotel de Ville is well placed in a 



166 PLACE DE GREVE. 

group with these obscene images. It is the seat of the 
administration of justice for all Paris, a gray and grief- 
worn-castle ; with the Place de Greve by the side of it. 
There it stands by the great thermometer of Monsieur 
Chevalier, where the French people come twice a day 
to see if they ought to shiver or sweat. There is not a 
more abominable place in all Paris than this Place de 
Greve. It holds about the same rank in the city that 
the hangman does in the community. There flowed the 
blood of the ferocious Republic, of the grim Empire, 
and the avenging Restoration. Lally's ghost haunts the 
guilty place. Cartouche was burnt there, and the hor- 
rible Marchioness Brinvilliers ; Damiens and Ravaillac 
were tortured there ; the beautiful Princess de Lam- 
balle assassinated there, and the martyrs of 1830 buried 
there. To complete your horror, there is yet the lamp- 
post—the Revolutionary gibbet, and the window through 
which Robespierre leaped out, and broke — if I were not 
writing to a lady I would say — his damned neck ! No 
accusing spirit would fly to Heaven's chancery with 
the oath. 

I began to breathe as I stepped upon the Pont Nenf. 
— The atmosphere brightened, the prospect suddenly 
opened, and the noble river exhibited its twenty bridges, 
and its banks, turreted, towered and castellated, as far 
as the eye could pierce. There is a romantic interest in 
the very name of this bridge, as in the " Bridge of 
Sighs," though not a great deal richer in architecture 
than yours of Fair Mount. And what is the reason ? 
Why is the Rialto more noble than your Exchange of 
Dock Street? You see Pierre and Jaffier, and the Jew, 
standing on it. The Pont Neuf has arched the Seine 
since 200 years and more. It was once the centre of 
gayety and fashion, and business. Here was displayed 



THE BIBLIOPOLIST. 167 

the barbaric luxury of Marie de Medicis, and the pom- 
pous Richelieu ; glittering equipages paraded here in 
their evening airings, and fair ladies in masks — better 
disguised in their own faces — crowded here to the 
midnight routs of the Carnival. A company in 1709 
had an exclusive privilege of a depot of umbrellas at each 
end, that ladies and gentlemen paying a sous might 
cross without injury to their complexions. The fine 
arts, formerly natives of this place, have since emigrated 
to the Palais Royal — ripae ulterioris amentes — and 
despair now comes hither at midnight — and the horrid 
suicide, by the silent statue of the great Henry, plunges 
into eternity. 

On the left is the Quai des Jlugustins, where the pa- 
tient bibliopolist sits over his odd volumes, and where 
the cheapest of all human commodities is human wit. 
A black and ancient building gives an imposing front to 
the Quai Conti ; it is the Hotel des Monnaies. Com- 
merce, Prudence, and several other allegorical grand- 
mothers are looking down from the balustrade. Next 
to it, (for the Muses, too, love the mint,) with a horse-shoe 
kind of face, is the Royal " Institute de France." 
This court has supreme jurisdiction in the French Re- 
public of letters ; it regulates the public judgment in 
matters of science, fine arts, language, and literary 
composition : it proposes questions, and rewards the least 
stupid, if discovered, with a premium, and gives its ap- 
probation of ingenious inventors, who, like Fulton, do 
not die of hunger in waiting for it. You may attend the 
sittings of the Jlcadbmie des Sciences, which are public, 
on Mondays. You will meet Pascal and Moliere in 
the antechamber — as far as they dared venture in their 
lives. The members you will see in front of broad 
tables in the interior, and the President eminent above 



168 ACADEMIE DES SCIENCES. 

the rest, who ever and anon will ring a little bell by way 
of keeping less noise : the spectators, with busts of Sully, 
Bossuet, Fenelon, and Descartes, sitting gravely tier over 
tier, around the extremities of the room. The Secretary 
will then run over a programme of the subjects, not 
without frequent tinklings of the admonitory bell ; at the 
end of which, debates will probably arise on general 
subjects or matters of form. For example, Mr. Arago 
will call in question the veracity of that eminent man, 
Mr. Herschel, of New York, and his selenelogical dis- 
coveries ; which have a great credit here ; no one sees 
the moon for the fogs, and you may tell as many lies 
about her as you please. Afterwards a little man of 
solemn mien, being seated upon a chair, will read you, 
alas, one of his own compositions. He will talk of no- 
thing but the geognosie des couches atmospheriques ; the 
isomorphism of the miner alogical substances, and the 
"Asyntotes of the Parabola" for an hour. You will 
then have an episode from Baron Lary (no one listening) 
upon a bag of dry bones, displayed h la Johassaphat, 
upon a wide table, followed by another reader, and then 
by another to the end of the sitting — -You will think the 
empire of dulness has come upon the earth. 

The Institute was once the College des Quatre 
Nations, and was founded by Mazarin upon the ruins 
of the famous Tour de Nesle. I need not telTydu the 
history of this Tour. Who does not know all about 
Queen Isabeau de Bavitre 7 Of her window from the 
heights of the Tour, from which she overlooked the 
Seine, before the baths of Count Vigier (what made him 
a count?) were invented? She was a great admirer of 
the fine forms of the human figure ; and she was the 
first woman in Europe, as I have read in the old chroni- 
cles, who had two chemises. The French have always 



PONT DES ARTS. 169 

been fond of much linen. I have no wish to find fault 
with her for this latter piece of extravagance ; but I 
cannot speak with the same indulgence of other parti- 
culars of her history. Her ill treatment of her lovers — 
her sewing them up, to prevent their telling tales, in 
sacks, and then tossing them before daylight into the 
river, was, to say the least of it — very wrong ! In 
crossing the Pont des Arts towards midnight I have 
often heard something very like the voices of lamenta- 
tion and violence. Sometimes I thought I could hear 
distinctly Isabeau ! in the murmuring of the waters. 

All the world runs to the Bains Vigiers, which 
are anchored along this Quai, to bathe at four sous; 
but the water is exceedingly foul. It is here the Seine, 

" With disemboguing streams, 
Rolls the large tribute of its dead dogs." 

And what is worst, when done bathing here, you have 
no place to go to wash yourself. 

The Pont des Arts is a light and airy bridge from 
the door of the Institute to the Quai du Louvre ; upon 
which no equipages are admitted. The Arts use their 
legs — cruribus non cnrribus atiintitr. Between this 
and the "Pont Royal," (a bridge of solid iron,) the 
antiquarians have got together for sale all the curious 
remains of the last century, Chineseries, Sevreries, and 
chimney pieces of Madame Pompadour. Next is the 
Quai Voltaire, in the east corner of which is the last 
earthly habitation of the illustrious individual whose 
name it bears. The apartment in which lie died has 
been kept shut for the last forty years, and has been 
lately thrown open. On the opposite side you see 
stretched out huge in length, the heavy and monotonous 
Louvre, which, with the Tuileries adjoining, is, they 
vol. i. — 15 



170 THE WASHERWOMEN. 

say, the most spacious and beautiful palace in the world. 
I have not experienced what the artists call a percep- 
tion of its beauties. There is a little pet corner, the 
eastern colonnade raised by Louis XIV., which is called 
the great triumph of French architecture. It consists of 
a long series of apartments decorated with superb co- 
lumns, with sculpture and mosaics, and a profusion of 
gilding, and fanciful ornaments.* From the middle 
gallery it was that Charles IX., one summer's evening, 
amused himself shooting Huguenots, flying the St. Bar- 
tholomew, with his arquebuss. Nero was a mere fiddler 
to this fellow. This is the gallery of Philip Augustus, 
so full of romance. It was from here that Charles X. 
"■•cut and ran/ 7 and Louis Philippe quietly sat down on 
his stool. See how the Palais des Beaux Arts is pep- 
pered with the Swiss bullets ! 

The edge of the river, for half a mile, is embroidered 
with washerwomen ; and baths, and boats of charcoal 
cover its whole surface. One cannot drown himself 
here, but at the risk of knocking out his brains. One of the 
curiosities of this place, is the fete des Blanchissenses, 
celebrated a few days ago. The whole surface of the 
river was covered with dances ; floors being strewed 
upon the boats ; and the boats adorned with flags and 
streamers, rowing about, and filled with elegant washer- 
women, just from the froth, like so many Venuses— 
now dissolving in a waltz, now fluttering in a quadrille. 
You ought to have seen how they chose out the most 
beautiful of these washerwomen — the Queen of the 

* Louis, by a royal edict, ordered that no other building should be 
constructed in Paris until this work was complete, under a penalty 
of imprisonment, and ten thousand francs fine. It was something in 
those days to be a king. One has now to ask the Deputies every 
thing, even to gilding the ceilings of the Madelaine. 



SWIMMING SCHOOLS. 1^1 

Suds— and rowed her in a triumphal gondola through 
the stream, with music that untwisted all the chains of 
harmony. 

"Not Cleopatra, on her galley's deck, 
Displayed so much of leg, or more of neck." 

This array of washing-boats relieves the French from 
that confusion, and misery of the American kitchen, the 
" washing-day ;" but to give us the water to drink, after 
all this scouring of foul linen, is not so polite. I have 
bought a filter of charcoal, which, they say, will in- 
tercept, at least, the petticoats and other such articles, 
as I might have swallowed. The Seine here suffers 
the same want as one of his brother rivers, sung by the 
poets: 

"The river Rhine, it is well known, 
Doth wash the city of Cologne, 
But tell me, Nymphs, what power divine, 
Shall henceforth wash the river Rhine." 

Just opposite the Quai, I observed " Schools of Nata- 
tion," for both sexes, kept entirely separate. An ad- 
monition is placed over the ladies' school to this effect, 
in large letters; besides it is hermetically secured against 
any impertinent intrusion, by a piece of linen. The 
ladies, however, were put to their last shifts, last summer, 
in maintaining this establishment. Such rigid notions 
do some persons here entertain of feminine decorum ! 
But opposition has now died away ; and the reports 
about gentlemen of the " other house" becoming love- 
sick, from swimming in the waters from the ladies' 
bath, have been proved malicious: for the gentlemen's 
house is further up the stream, " et par consequence." — 
The truth is, that a lady has as much right, and, unfor- 
tunately, in these shipwrecking times, as much neces- 



172 THE TELESCOPE MAKER. 

sity often, to swim as a gentleman ; and it is ascertained 
that, with the same chance, the woman is the better 
swimmer of the two. (I have this from the lady who 
keeps the bureau.) Her head is always above the water. 
All of them, and especially those who have the vapors, 
can swim without cork. The process of instruction is 
easy. All that the swimming master has to do, is just 
to thrust the little creatures into a pair of gum-elastic 
trousers, and a cravat, inflated, and then pitch them in, 
one after another — only taking care not to put on the 
trousers without the cravat. — I will finish this paragraph, 
already too long, by an anecdote. I will show you that 
ladies, who swim, cannot use too much circumspection. 
I mean, by circumspection, looking up, as well as round 
about them. The ever vigilant police about the Tui- 
leries, had observed a young gentleman very busy with 
tools, at an opposite garret window, for whole weeks 
together. Sometimes, till the latest hour of the night, 
his lamp was seen glimmering at the said window. At 
length, by the dint of looking, and looking they disco- 
vered something like an " Infernal Machine," placed 
directly towards the apartment of the king and queen, 
and the bedchamber of the dear little princesses and 
Madame Adelaide. It was just after the July review, 
and General Mortier's disaster; and suspicion lay all 
night wide awake. What needs many words? They 
burst into the room — the " Garde Municipale" and 
the '•'police centrale" the "pompiers" and the " sa- 
peurs" and the Serjeants clad in blue, with buttons to 
their arms, and swords to their sides, and coifed in cha- 
peaux, three feet in diameter — breaking down all oppo- 
sition of doors, and dragged forth the terrified young 
man. The tongues of all Paris were now set loose, as 
usual, and proclamations were read through the streets, 



THE GARDENS OF THE TUILERIES. 173 

de V horrible assassinat tente conlre la vie du roi,ct de la 
Jamille royale, &c. &c, and all that for four sous ! It was 
even said, that he had made important revelations to 
the minister of the Interior; and that some of the most 
distinguished Carlists were implicated in his guilt. At 
length, he was brought up before the Chamber of 
Peers, with his machine ; where it was examined, and 
discovered to be — what do you think? — a telescope! 
The young man alleged that he was getting it up for 
astronomical purposes; but the president, a shrewd man 
about machines, observed that its obliquity was in an 
opposite direction to the stars. 

The Seine flows gently by the side of the Tuileries, 
both from the pleasure it has had in bathing the royal 
family, and the delight of listening to the king's band, 
which plays here every evening, and from this onwards, 
the right bank is occupied by the gardens of the Tuileries 
and Champs Elysees. If you wish to know how more 
beautiful than the gardens of Armida is this garden of 
the Tuileries, I refer you to my former ietters; especially 
to that one which I wrote you when I had just fallen 
from the clouds. I admired, then, everything with sen- 
sibility, and a good many things with ecstacy. Some- 
body has said, that every one who is born, is as much a 
first man as Adam, which I do not quite believe. Adam 
came straight into the world, " all made up." He came 
into the midst of a creation, which rushed, with the 
freshness of novelty upon his senses, and was not intro- 
duced to him by gradual acquaintance. How many 
things did this first man see in Eden, which you and I 
could never have seen in it ; and which he himself had 
never seen in it, if he had been put out to nurse or had 
been brought up at the " College Rolein." I wish it had 
pleased Providence to people this world with men and 

15* 



174 THE MARQUIS DE MEILLERAYE. 

women of his own making, and not left ns to be made 
by bungling nurses, and still more bungling schoolmas- 
ters. How often have I since wandered through this 
garden, without even glancing at the white and snowy 
bosom of the Queen of Love— how often walked upon 
this goodly terrace, strolling all the while, the pretty 
Miss Smith at one arm, and thy incomparable self at the 
other, by the wizard Schuylkill, or the silent woods of 
the Mahontongo. 

Opposite this garden, on the Quai (POrsay, is the 
Hotel, not finished, of the Minister of the Interieur; the 
most enormous building of all Paris. It has turned all 
the houses near it into huts. That, just under its huge 
flanks, with a meek and prostrate aspect, as if making 
an apology, for intruding into the presence of its pro- 
digious neighbor, that is the Hotel of the Legion of 
Honor. Alas, what signifies it to have bullied all Eu- 
rope for half a century ! Close by is a little chateau, 
formerly of the Marquis de Meilleraye, which I notice only 
to tell you an anecdote of his wife. The prince Philip 
came to Paris, and died very suddenly — under Louis 
XIV. He was a great roue and libertine, and some one 
moralizing, expressed before the Marchioness, doubts 
about his salvation. " Je vous assure" said she, very 
seriously, " qu' a des gens de cctte qualite Id, Dieu y 
regarde, Men a deux fois pour les damner." Ladies 
bred in high life don't think that kings may be damned 
like thee and me. 

The next object of importance, and the object of most 
importance of all Paris, is the Chamber of Deputies. I 
wished to go in, but four churlish and bearded men dis- 
puted me this privilege. I sat down, therefore, upon 
the steps, having Justice, Temperance, and Prudence, 
and another t elderly lady, on each side of me; and I con- 



A FAIR VISITANT. 175 

soled myself and said : In this House the Virtues are 
shut out of doors. 1 had also in the same group, Sully, 
Hopital, D'Aguesseau, and Colbert. What superhuman 
figures! And I had in front the Bridge of Concord, 
upon which are placed twelve statues in marble, also of 
the Colossal breed. A deputy, as he waddles through 
the midst of them, seems no bigger than Lemuel Gulli- 
ver, just arrived at Brobdignag. Four are of men dis- 
tinguished in war; Conde, who looks ridiculously grim, 
and Turenne, Duguesclin, and Bayard; and four emi- 
nent statesmen, Suger, Richelieu, Sully, Colbert; and 
four of men famous on the sea, Tourville, SufTren, Du- 
quesne, and who was the other? — He whose name 
would shame an epic poem, or the Paris Directory, 
Duguay-Trouin. I took off my hat to Suffren, for he 
helped us with our Independence. 

On the back ground of this Palace, is a delightful 
woodland, where the members often seek refreshment 
from the fatigues of business in the open air. Here 
you will see a Lycurgus seated apart, and ruminating 
upon the fate of empires; and there a pair of Solons, 
unfolding the mazes of human policy, straying arm in 

arm through its solitary gravel walks. M. Q , a 

member of this chamber and sometimes minister, was 
seen walking here assiduously during the last summer 
evenings; and often when the twilight had just faded 
into night, a beautiful female figure was seen walking 
with him. It did not seem to be of mortal race, but a spirit 
of some brighter sphere, which had consented awhile 

to walk upon this earth with Monsieur Q . It was, 

however, the wife of Monsieur , another member 

of this chamber. — One essential difference, you may re- 
mark between Numa Pompilius and Deputy Q is, 

that the one met ladies in the woods, for the making of 



176 PLACE DE LA REVOLUTION. 

laws — and the other for the breaking of them. Mon- 
sieur -, informed of the fact, took a signal revenge 

upon the seducer of his wife. And what do you think 
it was ?— He called him out, to be sure, and blew out 
his brains. Not a bit of it.— He waylaid him then, and 
dispatched him secretly ? Much less. I will tell you 
what he did. He took Monsieur Q — — 's wife in ex- 
change. — In telling this tale, which I had on pretty good 
authority, I do not mean to say — Heaven preserve me — 
that there are not honest wives in Paris. 

"II en est jusqu'a trois que je pourrais nommer." 

I have now before me one of the most execrable 
spots upon this earth; — a "damned spot/' which all the 
perfumes of Arabia cannot sweeten — the " Place de la 
Revolution' 7 * — where the Queen of France suffered 
death with her husband, to propitiate the horrible Re- 
public. I saw once my mother in agitation, upon read- 
ing a newspaper — sobbing, and even weeping aloud; — 
she read, (and set me to weeping too,) the account of 
the execution of this queen. It is the farthest remem- 
brance of my life, and I am now standing on the spot — 
on the very spot on which this deed was perpetrated — 
which made women weep in their huts beyond the Alle- 
ghany ! With the manifold faults of this queen, one can- 
not, at the age of sober reason, look upon the place of 
her execution, and think over her hapless fate, without 
feeling all that one has of human nature melting into 
compassion. She was a woman whom anything of a 
gentleman would love with all her faults. Moreover, 
no one expects queens, in the intoxication of their for- 
tunes, to behave like sober people. Not even the sound 

* It is called also the Place de la Concord, and the Place Louis XV. 



FINE VIEW OF PARIS. 177 

and temperate head of Csesar preserved its prudence in 
this kind of prosperity. The Guillotine was erected 
permanently on the centre of this Place, and was fed 
with cart loads at a time. The most illustrious of its 
victims, were the queen, Louis XVL, his sister Made- 
moiselle Elizabeth, and the father of the present king. 
The grass does not grow upon the guilty place, and the 
Seine flows quickly by it. 

If you wish to have the finest view of all Paris — the 
finest, perhaps, of all Europe, of a similar kind — you 
must stand upon the centre of this place ; and you must 
hurry, as the Obelisk of Luxor has just arrived from 
Egypt, and will occupy it shortly. Towards the east, 
you have spread out before you the gardens of the 
Tuileries, bordered by the noble colonnade of the Rue 
Rivoli and the Seine ; — towards the west the Champs 
Elysees, and the broad walk leading gently up to Napo- 
leon's arch, which stands proudly on the summit, and 
" helps (he ambitious hills the heavens to scale. " On 
the north, you have in full view, through the Rue Royale, 
the superb Madelaine, on the side of its most brilliant 
sculpture; and in symmetry with it, the noble front of 
the Palais Bourbon on the south. On fine evenings, 
and days of parade, you will see from the Arch to the 
Palace, about two miles, a moving column of human 
beings upon the side-walks; and innumerable equipages, 
with horses proud of their trappings, and lacqueys of their 
feathers, meeting and crossing each other upon the inter- 
vening roads ; and upon the area of the Tuileries, all 
that which animated life has most amiable and beauti- 
ful. You will see, amidst the parterres of flowers, and 
groups of oranges, and its marble divinities, swans swim- 
ming upon the silvery lakes ; multitudes of children at 
their sports, and everywhere ladies and their cavaliers, 



178 OBELISK OF LUXOR. 

in all the colors of the toilette, sitting or standing, or 
sauntering about, and appearing through the trees, upon 
the distant terraces, as if walking upon the air. All this 
will present you a rich and variegated tableau, of which 
prose like mine can give you no reasonable perception. 
The great obelisk, which is to stand here, is now lying 
upon the adjacent wharf. It is 72 feet high, and is to 
be raised higher, by a pedestal of 20 feet. It is a single 
block of granite, with four faces, and each face has almost 
an equal share of the magnificent prospect I have just 
tried to describe. It tapers towards the top, and its sides, 
older than the alphabet, are embossed with a variety of 
curious images. Birds are singing, rustics laboring, or 
playing on their pipes, sheep are bleating, and lambs 
skipping. A slave is on his knees, and a Theban gen- 
tleman recumbent in his fauteuil ; and one is at his wine 
— he who "hob-a-nobbed with Pharaoh, glass to glass, 
3000 years ago." — The men are in caps, a third their 
size ; and the women in low hoods, like a chancellor's 
wig. Little did the miner think, who dug it from the 
quarry, little did the sculptor think, as he carved these 
images on it, and how little did Sesostris think, in read- 
ing over his history of Paris, that it would, one day, 
make the tour of Europe, and establish itself here in the 
Place de la Concorde. An expensive and wearisome 
journey it has had of it. It is nine years since it stepped 
from its pedestal at Luxor. It was a good notion of 
Charles X., but not original. The Emperor Constantius 
brought one, the largest ever known, (150 feet high,) to 
Rome. Two magnificent ones, set up by the Doge 
Ziana, adorn the Piazetta of St. Mark's, brought from 
some island of the Archipelago. The French army, 
captured at Alexandria in 1801, had two young ones on 
their way to Paris, which fell, poor things ! into the ra- 



ANCIENT REGALIA. 179 

pacious hands of the British Museum. And now the 
English, jealous of this Luxorique magnificence, are 
going to bring over Cleopatra's needle, to be up with 
them ; and we are going to put something in our Wash- 
ington Square; and then the French, some of these days, 
will bring over the Pyramids. 

At the corner of the Rue Royale you will see two 
..palaces, one the depot of fine furniture and jewels, the 
other of the armor of the crown. Here are shields that 
were burnished for Cressy and Agincourt. Here is the 
armor of Francis when made prisoner at Pavia, of Henry 
when mortally wounded by Montgomery ; complete sets 
of armor of Godfrey de Bouillon and Joan of Arc, the 
sword of King Cassimer, and that of the holy father 
Paul V. Spiders are now weaving their webs in casques 
that went to Jerusalem. The diamonds of the crown 
deposited here before the Revolution in rubies, topaz, 
emeralds, sapphires, amethysts, &c, were 7432 in num- 
ber, amongst which were the famous jewels called the 
Sanci and the Regent, so notorious in the history of 
jewels ; the latter has figured about the world in the 
king's hats, and Napoleon's sword. An antiquarian 
would find extreme delight in this room; as for me I 
scarce know which is Mambrino's helmet, and which 
the barber's basin. 

I had no sooner quit the deputies than I found myself 
under the great Hospital of the Invalids, whose lofty 
and gilded dome was blazing in the setting sun. Napo- 
leon put up this gilding to amuse gossiping Paris in his 
Russian defeats, as Alcibiades to divert Athens from his 
worse tricks cut off his dog's tail ; and as Miss Kitty to 
withdraw a more dangerous weapon from her baby's 
hand, gives it a rattle. 3,800 soldiers are now lodged in 
this Hospital, or rather pieces of soldiers ; for one has an 



ISO HOSPITAL OF THE INVALIDS. 

arm at Moscow, another a leg at Algiers, needing no 
nourishment from the state. Here is one whose lower 
limbs were both lost at the taking of Paris. He seems 
very happy. IJe saves the shoemaker's, hosier's, and half 
the tailor's bill. He is fat, too, and healthy, for he has 
the same rations as if he were all there. If I were ex- 
pert at logic, I would prove to you that this piece of an 
individual might partly eat himself up ; his legs being 
buried in the suburbs, and he dining on the potatoes 
which grow there ; and I could prove, if I was put to it, 
that with a proper assistance from cork, he might be run- 
ning about town with his legs in his cheeks. There are 
two sorts of historians, one confining themselves to a sim- 
ple narrative of facts and descriptions; the other searching 
after causes and effects, and accompanying the narrative 
with moral reflections. I belong to the latter class. This 
hospital was planned by the great Henry; the great 
Louis built it, and it was furnished with lodgers by the 
great Napoleon. It has all the air of a hospital ; long 
ranges of rooms and chilling corridors; and this reunion 
of mutilated beings is a horrid spectacle ! They lead 
a kind of inactive, lounging, alms-house existence. How 
much better had the munificence of government given 
to each his allowance, with the privilege of remaining 
with his friends and relations, than to be thus cut off 
from all the charities and consolations of domestic life, 
and without the last, best consolation of afflicted hu- 
manity, a woman. The dome is magnificent with paint- 
ings, gildings, carvings, and such like decorations. The 
chapel, the most splendid part, is tapestried with flags 
taken in war from the enemy. What an emblem in a 
Christian church ! There are several hundreds yet re- 
maining, notwithstanding the great numbers burnt, to 
save them from their owners, the allies. " There are 



THE CHAMP DE MARS. 181 

some here from all countries," said my guide, growing 
a foot taller. " Those are from Africa ; those from Bel- 
gium ; and those three from England." When I asked 
him to show me those from America, he replied with a 
shrug — " cela viendra, monsieur" 

The immense plain to the west of the Invalids and 
in front of the Ecole Militaire, is the Champ de Mars, 
the rendezvous of horses fleet in the race, and cavalry 
to be trained for the battle. I am quite vexed that I 
have not space to tell you of the great Revolutionary 
fete which was once celebrated in this very place; 
how the ladies of the first rank volunteered and worked 
with their own dear little hands to put up the scaffold- 
ing ; and how the king was brought out here with his 
white and venerable locks and air of a martyr, and the 
queen her eyes swollen with weeping ; their last appear- 
ance but one ! before the people. And it would be very 
gratifying to take a look at that good old Revolutionary 
patriarch, Talleyrand. How he officiated at the im- 
mense ceremony, at the head of two hundred priests, ali 
habited in immaculate white surplices, and all adorned 
with tri-colored scarfs, and then how the holy man 
blessed the new standards of France, and consecrated 
the eighty-three banners of the Departments. I wish 
to write all this, but winged time will not wait upon my 
desires; besides, this letter is already the longest that 
was ever written except Paul's to the Romans; it has 
as many curiosities, too, as the shield of Achilles. The 
bridge just opposite is the Pont de Jena. The allies 
were about to destroy it on account of its name, and 
put gunpowder under it, but Louis XVIII. would not 
allow it. Le jour ou vous Jerez sauter le Pont de 
Jena, je me mette dessus ! and Blucher was moved. 
vol. i. — 16 



182 FAUBOURG ST. GERMAIN. 

This bridge is the end of my letter and journey; finis 
chartasque viseque. 

The cholera, the devil take if, has got into Italy, and 
I shall perhaps lose altogether the opportunity of a visit 
to that country. I shall not kiss the feet of his Holiness, 
nor see the Rialto, nor the Bridge of Sighs ; nor Venice 
and her gondolas, nor look upon the venerable Palace 
of her Doges. Alas, I shall not linger at Virgil's tomb ! 
nor swim in the Tiber, nor taste one drop of thy pure 
fountain, Egeria ! nor thine, Fons Blandusias splendi- 
dior vitreo. 



LETTER X . 

Faubourg St. Germain — Quartier Latin — The book-stalls — Phrenolo- 
gists — Dupuytren's room — Medical students — Lodgings — Bill at the 
Sorbonne — French cookery — A gentleman's boarding-house — The 
locomotive cook — Fruit — The pension — The landlady — Pleasure 
in being duped — Smile of a French landlady — The boarding-house 
— Amiable ladies — The Luxembourg gardens — The grisettes — 
Their naivete and simplicity — Americans sent to Paris — Parisian 
morals — Advantages in visiting old countries — American society 
* in Paris. 

Paris, November 24th, 1835. 

Nearly all who love to woo the silent muses are 
-assembled in this region, the Faubourg St. Germxiin. 
Here are the libraries bending under their ponderous 
loads, and here are the schools and colleges, and all the 
establishments devoted to science and letters; for which 
reason no doubt it is dignified by the name of the Quar- 
tier Latin. When the west of the river was yet over- 



THE BOOKSHOP. 183 

spread with its forests, this quarter was covered with 
houses and adorned with a palace and amphitheatre, 
baths, an aqueduct, and a "Field of Mars" for the 
parade of the Roman troops — where Julius Caesar used 
to make them shoulder their firelocks. But now, though 
it contains a fourth of the population of the town, and 
retains its literary character, so far has luxury got ahead 
of Philosophy, it has no greater dignity of name than 
the "Faubourgs" It stands apart as if the city of 
some other people. Some few, indeed, from the fashion- 
able districts, in a desperate Captain Ross kind of expedi- 
tion, do sometimes come over here, and have got back 
safe, but having found nothing but books and such things 
of little interest, it remains unexplored. The population 
has become new, by retaining its old customs. By 
standing still, it shows the " march of intellect" through 
the rest of the city. Here you see yet that venerable 
old man who wears a cue and powder, and buckles his 
shoes, and calls his shop a boutique; who garters up 
his stockings over his knees, goes to bed at eight, and 
snuffs the candle with his fingers ; and you see every- 
where the innumerable people, clattering through the 
muddy and narrow lanes in their sabots. Poverty, not 
being able to get lodgings in the Rue Rivoli, the Palais 
Royal, and, though she tried hard, in the Boulevards, 
has been obliged, on account of the cheap rents, to come 
over here and to strike up a sort of partnership with 
science, and they now carry on various kinds of indus- 
try, under the firm of Misere et Compagnie. 

In the central section of this Latin country, the staple 
is the bookshop. Everywhere you will see the little 
store embossed with its innumerable volumes inside out, 
on the ceilings, on the floor, and on the screens through- 
out the room, leaving just a space for a little bookseller ; 



184 ANATOMICAL APPEARANCES. 

and stalls are covered with the same article in the open 
air, in all those positions, where, in other towns, you find 
mutton and fat beef. When you see a long file of Insti- 
tutes, and Bartholos, and Cujasses, wrapped in their yel- 
low parchment, you are near the Temple of Themis — 
the Ecole des Lois. When you see, in descending St. 
Jacques, a morose, surly, bibliomaniacal little man, en- 
trenched behind a Homer, a Horace, and a Euclid's Ele- 
ments, that is the College de France ; and when you 
stumble over a pile of the Martyrs, it is the Sor bonne; 
as you approach the Ecole Medecine, five hundred Bi- 
chats and Richerands beckon you to its threshold. — 
Besides, you will see ladies and gentlemen looking out 
from the neighboring windows, and recommending them- 
selves in their various anatomical appearances ; en squel- 
lette, or half dissected, or turned wrong side out. There 
is a shop, too, of phrenological skulls, and a lady who 
will explain you the bumps; and if you like, you can 
get yourself felt for a franc or two, and she will tell you 
where is your Philo-pro — what do you call it ? She 
told me our intellectual qualities were placed in front, 
and the sensual in the back part of the skull, very hap- 
pily, because the former could look out ahead, and keep 
the latter in order. And next door is a shop of all the 
wax preparations of human forms, and diseases, and 
here is another lady who will point you out their resem- 
blances with originals, who will analyze you a man into 
all his component parts, and put him up again ; and she 
puts up, also, " magnificent skeletons," and mannikins 
for foreign countries. Now and then you will see arrive 
a cart, which pours out a dozen or so of naked men and 
women, as you do a cord of wood upon the pavement, 
which are distributed into the dissecting rooms, after the 
ladies and gentlemen standing about have sufficiently 



CAFE AU LAIT. 185 

entertained themselves with the spectacle. And just 
step into " Dupuytren's Room," and you will see all the 
human diseases, arranged beautifully in families ; here 
is the plague, and there is the cholera morbus ; here is 
the gout, and there is the palsy staring you in the face; 
and there are whole cabinets of sprained ankles, brokea 
legs, dislocated shoulders, and cracked skulls. In a word, 
everything is literary in this .quarter. One evening you 
are invited to a party for squaring the circle, another for 
finding out the longitude ; and another : " My dear sir, 
come this evening ; we have just got in a subject. The 
autopsis will begin at six;" 

The medical students are about four thousand; those 
of law and theology about the same number; and many 
a one of these students lodges, eats and clothes himself, 
and keeps his sweetheart all for twelve dollars per 
month. With the exception of the last named article, I 
am living a kind of student's life. I have a room twenty 
feet square, overlooking from the second story, the beau- 
tiful garden of Luxembourg, and the great gate opening 
from the Rue d'Enfer. This is my parlor during the 
day, and a cabinet having a bed, and opening into it, 
converts the two into a bed-chamber for the night ; and 
the price including services, is eight dollars per month. 
I find at ten a small table covered with white porcelain, 
and a very neat little Frenchwoman comes smiling in 
with a coffee-pot in one hand and a pitcher of boiling 
milk in the other, and pours me out with her rosy fingers 
a large cup of the best cafe au lait in the world, and sits 
down herself, and descants fluently on the manners and 
customs of the capital, and improves my facilities in 
French. If you wish bad coffee, it is not to be had in 
this country. The accompaniments are two eggs, or 
some equivalent relish, a piece of fresh butter, and a 

16* 



186 DINNER AT THE SORBONNE. 

small loaf of bread — all this for eighteen sous, (a sous is 
a twentieth less than our cent.) 1 dine out wherever I 
may chance to be, and according to the voracity or tem- 
perance of my appetites, from one and a half to five 
francs at six o'clock. A French dinner comes at the 
most sociable hour, when the cares and labors of the 
day are past, and the mind can give itself up entirely to 
its enjoyments, or its repose. 

I have dined sometimes at the illustrious Flicoteau's, 
on the Place Sorbonne, with the medical students, and 
have looked upon the rooms once occupied by J. Jacques 
Rousseau, and upon the very dial on which he could 
not teach Therese, his grisette wife, to count the hours. 
I have dined, too, at Viot's, with the law students, and 
have taken coffee, with Moliere, and Fontinelle, and 
Voltaire, at the Procope. The following is a bill at the 
Sorbonne. 



A service of Soup, 


3 sous, 


Vegetables, 


3 « 


Meat, 


6 " 


Fish, 


6 " 


Bread, 


2 " 



20 

You have, also, which serves at once for vinegar and 
wine, a half bottle of claret, at six sous; and a dessert, 
a bunch of grapes or three cherries, for two ; or of sweet- 
meats, a most delicate portion — one of those infinitesi- 
mals of a dose, such as the Homoeopathists administer 
in desperate cases. Yet this — if a dish were only what 
it professes to be on its face, the soup, not the rinsings 
of the dishcloth, the fricassee not poached upon the swill- 
tub — this would still be supportable— if a macaroni were 



FRENCH COOKERY. 187 

only a macaroni; which, in a cheap Paris fare, I under- 
stand, is not to be presumed. In sober sadness, this is 
very bad. We have a right to expect that a thing which 
calls itself a hare, should not be a cat. But, alas ! it is the 
end of all human refinement, that hypocrisy should take 
the place of truth. You can discern no better the com- 
ponent parts of a French dish, in a French cookery, than 
you can a virtue in a condiment of French affability. 

But — . It is an homage which a horse's rump 

renders to a beefsteak. At my last dinner here I had 
two little ribs, held together in indissoluble matrimony, of 
mutton. I tried to divorce them, but to no purpose, till 
the perspiration began to flow abundantly. I called the 
" gargon," and exhibited to him their toughness. — " Ce- 
pendant, Monsieur, le mouion etait magnijique!" I 
offered him five francs if he would sit down and eat it; 
he refused. He had, perhaps, a mother or some poor re- 
lation depending on him. I did not insist. M. Flicoteau 
belongs to the romantic school. I prefer the classical. I 
need hardly say, that the French students who dine 
here, have an unhealthy and shriveled appearance — you 
recollect the last run of the shad on the Juniata. It is 
the very spot in which the Sorbonne used to starve its 
monks for the sake of the Lord, and M. Flicoteau, for 
his own sake, keeps starving people here ever since ? 
Sixteen sous is a student's ordinary dinner. His com- 
mon allowance for clothing, and other expenses by the 
year, is three hundred dollars. He eats for a hundred, 
lodges for fifty, and has the remainder for his wardrobe, 
and amusements. The students of medicine are mostly 
poor and laborious, and being obliged to follow their 
filthy occupation of dissecting, are negligent of dress and 
manners. The disciples of the law are more of the rich 
classes, have idle time, keep better company, and have 



188 THE GARGOTTE. 

an air plus distingue. The doctors of law in all coun- 
tries take rank above medicine. The question of prece- 
dence, I recollect, was determined by the Duke of Man- 
tua's fool, who observed that the "rogue always walks 
ahead of the executioner." — Theology, alas ! hides her 
head in a peaceful corner of the Sorbonne, where once 
she domineered, and begs to be unnoticed in her humble 
and abject fortunes. A student of Divinity eats a soup 
maigre, a riz-au~lait, flanked by a dessert of sour grapes. 
His meals would take him to Heaven if he had no other 
merits. 

The other resorts of eating, besides the restaurants, 
are as follows : the Gargotte, the Cuisine Bourgeoise, 
and, of a higher grade, the Pension Bourgeoise. In 
the Gargotte you don't get partridges. — Your "clinner 
costs seven sous. You have a little meat, dry and some- 
what stringy, veal or mutton, whichever Monsieur 
pleases. — Whether it died the natural way, or a violent 
death by the hands of the butcher, it is impossible to 
know. You have, besides, a thick soup, a loaf of bread 
three feet long, standing in the corner by the broom, and 
fried potatoes ; also water and the servant girl a discre- 
tion. At seventeen sous, you have all the aforesaid 
delicacies, with a table cloth into the bargain ; and at 
twenty, the luxurious addition of a napkin, and a fork 
of Algiers metal- — This is the Gargotte. When you 
have got to twenty-five sous, you are in the Cuisine 
Bourgeoise. Here your " couvert" consists Of a^spoon, 
a fork, a knife, a napkin, a glass, and a small bottle, 
called a caraffon ; your plate is changed — already a step 
towards civilization ; and you have a cucumber a foot 
long, radishes a little withered, asparagus just getting 
to seed, and salt and pepper, artistically arranged ; and 
a horse's rump cooked into a beefsteak, and washed 



RESORTS OF EATING. 189 

down with " veritable magon" — that 'is, the best sort 
of logwood alcoholized. You have, also, a little dessert 
here of sour grapes, wrinkled apricots, or green figs, 
which are exhibited for sale, at the window, between 
meals. The flaps of mutton and the drum-sticks of 
turkeys, which you get so tender, have been served up, 
once or twice, at the Hotel Ordinary ; but they are pre- 
ferred much to the original dishes. One likes sometimes 
better Ephraim's gleanings, than Abiezer's vintage. 
The French have a knack of letting nothing go to loss. 
Why they make more of a dead horse or cow than 
others of the living ones. They do not even waste the 
putrid offals of the butcheries ; they sell the maggots to 
feed chickens. — But when you pay forty sous, that's 
quite another affair. You are now in the monde gour- 
mande. Spinage has butter in it; custards have sugar 
in them; soup is called potage ; — everything now has 
an honest name ; bouilli is boeuf a la mode ; fried pota- 
toes, pomme de terre ci la maitre d' 'hotel ; and a baked 
cat is, lapin saute a Vestragon. — This is the gentle- 
man's boarding-house. I mean by gentleman, a youth, 
who has* just come over from England or America, to 
the lectures, or a French clerk of the corps bureau-cra- 
tique, or an apprentice philosopher, who calls himself a 
" man of letters." It is one of the advantages of this 
place, that you are not often oppressed by the intelli- 
gence and gravity of your convives, and have a chance 
of shining. It is in the power of any man to have wit, 
if he but knows how to select his company. In this 
pension the dishes succeed one another, and are not 
crammed, as in our tables roti fricandeau, salade, vol 
an vent — all into the same service, to distract and pall 
the appetite, or get cold waiting on each other. The 
coquetry of a French kitchen keeps alive expectation. 



190 SUCCESSION OF DISHES. 

and enhances enjoyment by surprise. You have here, 
too, the advantage of a male cook; the kitchen prefers 
the masculine to the feminine, like the grammars; and, 
besides, you have the tranquillity of a private house. If 
you ask a dish at Flicoteau's, the waiter balls it down 
to the kitchen, and as they are continually asking, he 
is continually bawling. At the end of the feast, you 
will see, standing before, you, a tumbler full of tooth 
picks, one of which you will keep fumbling in your 
mouth, the whole afternoon, as an evidence you have 
dined, and especially if you have not dined — for then 
you must keep up appearances; — some grease their 
mouths with a candle, and then you think they have 
been eating fate defoie gras. 

I am sorry to have forgotten the locomotive cook; 
I mean a woman with an appareil de cuisine about 
her neck, having meat and fish hung, by hooks, on 
both her haunches, and sausages, or fish, or potatoes 
hissing in a frying-pan ; and diffusing, for twenty 
yards around, a most appetizing flavor. — She haunts 
usually the Pont Neuf, and its vicinity, and looks like 
gastronomy personified. She will give you for four 
sous, of potatoes, with yesterday's gazette, and reclin- 
ing under the parapet of the Quai — the king, perhaps, 
all the while, envying you from the heights of the 
Louvre — you eat a wholesomer dinner, at ten sous, than 
the Place Sorbonne at twenty-four. 

All the common world of Paris buys its provisions 
second handed. The farmer arrives about two in the 
morning — he sells out to the hucksters, and these latter to 
the public : mixing in the leavings of the preceding day, 
a rotten egg with a fresh one, &c. A patient old woman, 
having nothing else to do, speculates over a bushel of 
potatoes, or a botte of onions, twice twenty-four hours ; 



SOLITUDE OF A POPULOUS CITY. 191 

and your milkwoman, perhaps, never saw a cow ; cows 
are expensive in slops and provender ; and snails and 
plaster of Paris are to be had almost for nothing. The 
French eat greater quantities of bread than their neigh- 
bors — and w T hy at a cheaper rate ? — The price is fixed, 
by police, every fortnight, and its average is two and a 
half cents — sixty per cent, lower than in London ; and 
how much lower than with us ? 450 millions of lbs. are 
consumed in Paris annually ; each man eating twelve 
dollars worth. If you establish a Frenchman's expense 
at 100 you will find 19 parts for bread, 22 for meat, 
21 for wine and spirits. Peaches and apples, and 
melons are not to be spoken of, in comparison with ours : 
but cherries, plums, and especially pears, are in great 
variety and abundance ; and the fine grapes of Fontain- 
bleau are eight cents per pound. In England, they 
have all the fruits of the Indies in the nobleman's hot 
houses ; but who can buy them ? There are men there 
who have the conscience to pay £150 for the fruits of 
a breakfast. " The strawberries at my Lady Stormont's, 
last Saturday, cost £150," says Hannah More. But I 
must bridle in my muse ; she is getting a fit of statistics. 
If a gentleman comes to Paris in the dog days, when 
his countrymen are spread over Europe, at watering 
places, and elsewhere, and when every soul of a French- 
man is out of town — if he is used to love his friends at 
home, and be loved by them, and to see them gather 
around him in the evenings — let him not set a foot in 
that unnatural thing, a bachelor's apartment in a fur- 
nished hotel, to live alone, to eat alone, and to sleep 
alone ! If he does, let him take leave of his wife and 
children and settle up his affairs. Nor let him seek 
company at the Tavern Ordinary ; here the guest arrives 
just at the hour, hangs up his hat, sits down in his usual 



1 92 FAMILY REUNIONS. 

place, crosses his legs, runs his fingers through his hair, 
dines, and then disappears, all the year round, without 
farther acquaintance. But let him look out a " Pension," 
having an amiable landlady, or, which is the same, 
amiable lodgers. He will become domiciliated here 
after some time, and find some relief from one of the 
trying situations of life. You know nothing yet, hap- 
pily, of the solitude, the desolation of a populous city to 
a stranger. How often did I wish, during the first three 
months, for a cot by the side of some hoar hill of tne 
Mahonoy. Go to* a " Pension," especially if you are a 
sucking child, like me, in the ways of the world ; and 
the lady of the house, usually a pretty woman, will feel 
it enjoined upon her humanity to counsel and protect 
you, and comfort you, or she will manage an acquaint- 
ance between you and some countess or baroness, who 
lodges with her, or at some neighbor's. I live now 
with a most spiritual little creature ; she tells me so 
many obliging lies, and no offensive truths, which I 
take to be the perfection of politeness in a landlady ; and 
she admits me'to her private parties — little family " re- 
unions" — where I play at loto with Madame Thomas, 
and her three amiable daughters, just for a little cider, 
cakes, or chestnuts, to keep up the spirit of the play; 
and then we have a song, a solo on the violin, or harp, 
and then a dance ; and finally, we play at little' games, 
which inflict kisses, embraces, and other such penalties. 
French people are always so merry, whatever be the 
amusement; they never let conversation flag, and I 
don't see any reason it should. One, for example, be- 
gins to talk of Paris, then the Passage Panorama, then 
of Mrs. Alexander's fine cakes, and then the pretty girl 
that sits behind the counter, and then of pretty girls that 
sit anywhere ; and so one, just lets one's self run with 



THE FRENCH LANDLADY. 193 

the association of ideas, or one makes a digression 
from the main story, and returns or not, just as one 
pleases. A Frenchman is always a mimic, an actor ; 
and all that nonsense which we suffer to go to waste in 
our country, he economizes for the enjoyment of society. 
I am settled down in the family; I am adopted ; the 
lady gives me, to be sure, now and then " a chance," as 
she calls it, of a ticket in a lottery (" the only one left") 
of some distinguished lady now reduced, or some lady 
who has had three children, and is likely for the fourth, 
where one never draws anything ; or "a chance" of con- 
ducting her and a pretty cousin of hers, who has taken 
a fancy to me, who adores the innocency of American 
manners, and hates the dissipation of the French, to the 
play. Have you never felt the pleasure of letting your- 
self be duped ? Have you never felt the pleasure of let- 
ting your little bark float down the stream when you 
knew the port lay the other way ? 1 look upon all this 
as a cheap return for the kindnesses I have so much 
need off; I am anxious to be cheated, and the truth is, 
if you do not let a French landlady cheat you now and 
then, she will drop your acquaintance. Never dispute 
any small items overcharged in her monthly bill ; or she 
that was smooth as the ermine will be suddenly bristled 
as the porcupine ; and why, for the sake of limiting 
some petty encroachment upon your purse, should you 
turn the bright heaven of her pretty face into a hurri- 
cane ? Your actions should always leave a suspicion 
you are rich, and then you are sure she will anticipate 
every want and wish you may have with the liveliest 
affection ; she will be all ravishment at your successes ; 
she will be in an abyss of chagrin at your disappoint- 
ments. " Helas! oh, mo?i Dieu!" and if you cry, she will 
cry with you ! We love money well enough in Ame- 
vol. i. — 17 



194 MANNER OF GAINING ATTENTIONS. 

rica, but we do not feel such touches of human kindness, 
and cannot work ourselves up into such fits of amiable- 
ness, for those who have it. I do not say it is hypocrisy ; 
a French woman really does love you if you have a long 
purse ; and if you have not, (I do not say it is hypocrisy 
neither,) she really does hate you. 

A great advantage to a French landlady is the sweet- 
ness and variety of her smile ; a quality in which French 
women excel universally. Our Madame Gibou keeps 
her little artillery at play during the whole of the dinner 
time, and has brought her smile under such a discipline 
as to suit it exactly to the passion to be represented, or 
the dignity of the person with whom she exchanges 
looks. You can tell any one who is in arrears as if you 
were her private secretary, or the wealth and liberality 
of a guest better than his banker, by her smile. If it be 
a surly knave, who counts the pennies with her, the lit- 
tle thing is strangled in its birth, and if one who owes 
his meals, it miscarries altogether ; and for a mere visitor 
she lets off one worth only three francs and a half; but 
if a favorite, who never looks into the particulars of her 
bill and takes her lottery tickets, then you will see the 
whole heaven of her face in a blaze, and it does not 
expire suddenly, but like the fine twilight of a summer 
evening, dies away gently on her lips. Sometimes I have 
seen one flash out like a squib, and leave you at once in 
the dark ; it had lit on the wrong person ; and at other 
times I have seen one struggling long for its life ; I have 
watched it while it was gasping its last ; she has a way 
too of knocking a smile on the head; I observed one at 
dinner to-day, from the very height and bloom of health 
fall down and die without a kick. 

It is strange (that I may praise myself) — but I have a 
share of attention in this little circle even greater than 



AFFABILITY. 195 

they who are amiable. If I say not a word, I am witty, 
and I am excessively agreeable by sitting still. " The 
silence often of pure innocence persuades when speaking 
fails." My acquaintance with life and wickedness puts 
me in immediate rapport with women, and removes 
many of the little obstacles which suspicious etiquette 
has set up between the sexes. Ladies, they say, never 
blush when talking to a blind man. While a man of 
address is sailing about and about a woman, as- Captain 
Ross, hunting the Northwest Passage, I am looked upon 
either as a ship in distress and claiming a generous sym- 
pathy and protection, or a prize which belongs to the 
wreckers, and am towed at once into harbor. Some- 
times, indeed, my ignorance of Paris and its ways, is 
taken for affectation, and they suspect me for behaving 
as great ambassadors, who affect simplicity to hide their 
diplomatic rogueries ; but he cannot long pass himself 
for a rogue, who is really honest. It is perhaps mere 
complexion or physiognomy. I see, every day, faces 
which remind one of those doors which have written on 
them " No Admission," and others, "Walk in without 
knocking." It is certain that what we call dignity, 
however admired on parade, is not a good social quality. 
" Dignitas et amor"— I forget what Ovid says about it. 
And women too are more familiar and easy of access to 
modesty of rank. Jupiter, you know, when he made 
love to Antiope with all his rays about him, was rejected, 
and he succeeded afterwards as a satyr. I knew a 
pretty American woman once, who, gartering up her 
stockings in the garden, was reminded th^t the gardener 
was looking : " Well ! he is only a working man," she 
replied, and went on with the exhibition; she would 
have been frightened to death had it been a lord. I 
make these remarks because other travelers would be 



196 THE BOARDING-HOUSE. 

likely to leave them out, and because it is good to know 
how to live to advantage in all the various circumstances 
of life. 

In recommending you a French boarding-house, it is 
my duty at the same time to warn you of some of its 
dangers, which are as follows: Your landlady will be 
in arrears for her rent 200 francs, and will confide to you 
her embarrassment. Having a rigid, inexorable pro- 
prietaire, and getting into an emergency, she will at 
length ask you with many blushes and amiable scruples 
the loan of the said money ; and her gratitude, poor 
thing ! at the very expectation of getting it, will over- 
come her so — she will offer you, her arms about your 
neck, her pretty self, as security for the debt. This is 
not all; the baroness (her husband being absent at Mos- 
cow or anywhere else) will invite you to a supper. She 
will live in a fine parlor, chambers adjoining, and will 
entertain you with sprightly and sensible conversation 
and all the delicacies of the table until the stars have 
climbed half way up the heavens; and you will find your- 
self tete-h-tele with the lady at midnight, the third bot- 
tle of champagne sparkling on the board. I am glad I 
did not leave my virtue in America ; I should have had 
such need of it in this country ! Indeed if it had been 
anybody else, not softened by the experience of nine 
lustrums ; — not fortified, like me, by other affections — if 
it had been anybody else in the world, he would have 
been ruined by Madame la Baronne. Nor when you 
have resisted Russia, have you won all the victories. On 
a fine summer's morning, when all joyous and good- 
humored, your landlady will present you the following 
cards, with notes and explanations. " This is from the 
belle Gabrielle. She assists her uncle in the store, and 
is quite disheartened with her business. Uncles are such 



GARDEN OF THE LUXEMBOURG. 197 

cross things ! — This is from one of my acquaintances. 
Flora — oh, beautiful au possible! She paints birds and 
other objects for the print shops, but she finds the confine- 
ment injurious to her health. Both these young ladies 
have signified in great confidence — I never would have 
guessed it ! — that they would be willing to form an in- 
timacy (a liaison) with some American gentleman, 
whom I might recommend. Here are their cards. You 
must call and see them, especially Flora ; she has such a 
variety of talents besides painting; and she will give you 
the most convincing proofs of good character and con- 
nections. Gabrielle also is very pretty, but she is a young 
and innocent creature, and her education, especially her 
music, not so far advanced." 

The garden of the Luxembourg comes next. It con- 
tains near a hundred acres, and lies in the midst of this 
classical district. It is not so gayly ornamented as the 
Tuileries, but is rich in picturesque and rural scenery. It 
has, indeed, two very beautiful ornaments. At the north 
end the noble edifice constructed by Marie de Medicis, 
the palace of Luxembourg, which contains a gallery of 
paintings, the chamber of Peers, and other curiosities ; 
and the Observatory, a stately builing, is in symmetry 
with this palace on the south. In the interior there are 
groves of trees and grass plots surrounded by flower 
beds; and numerous statues, most of which have seen 
better days ; ranges of trees, and an octagonal piece of 
water inhabited by two swans, which are now swimming 
about in graceful solemnity, adorn the parterre in front 
of the palace. All these objects I have in view from my 
windows. The garden has altogether an air of philo- 
sophy very grateful to men of studious dispositions. 
Many persons are seated about in reading or conversa- 
tion, or strolling with books through its groves, and 

17* 



198 VETERANS OF THE WAR. 

squads of students are now and then traversing it to 
their college recitations. On benches overlooking the 
parterre is seated all day long, the veteran of the war, 
the old soldier, in his regimentals, his sword as a com- 
panion laid beside him on the bench ; he finds a repose 
here for his old age amidst the recreations of childhood ; 
and five or six hundred little men in red breeches, whose 
profession it is to have their brains knocked out for their 
country at sixpence a day, are drilled here every 
morning early, to keep step and to handle their fire- 
locks. There is one corner in which there is a fountain 
surmounted by a nymph, and which has a gloomy and 
tufted wood, and an appearance of sanctity which makes 
it respected by the common world, and by the sun. One 
man only is seen walking there at a time, the rest retiring 
out of respect for his devotions. Since a week it is 
frequented daily by a poet. He recites with appropriate 
action his verses, heedless of the profane crowd. He 
appears pleased with his compositions, and smiles often, 
no doubt, in anticipation of their immortality. I often 
sit an hour of an evening at my window, and look down 
upon the stream of people which flows in and out, and 
the sentinel who walks up and down by the gate ridi- 
culously grim. 1 love to read the views and disposi- 
tions of men in their faces. I witness some pleasant 
flirtations, too, under the adjacent lime trees, and many 
gratified and disappointed assignations. Now a lady 
wrapped in her cloak walks up and down the most 
secret avenue, upon the anxious watch ; the lover comes 
at length and she hastens to his embraces, and they 
vanish ; and next in his turn a gentleman walks sentinel, 
until his lady comes, or impatient and disappointed, 
goes off in a rage, or night covers him with her hoary 
mantle.— Were I not bound by so many endearing 



* THE GRISETTES, 199 

affections of kindred and friendship to my native conn- 
try, there is not one spot upon the earth I would prefer 
to the sweet tranquillity of this delicious retirement. 

When you visit the Luxembourg, you will see multi- 
tudes everywhere of bouncing demoiselles, with nymph- 
looking faces, caps without bonnets, and baskets in their 
hands, traversing the garden from all quarters, running 
briskly to their work in the morning, and strolling 
slowly homewards towards evening.— These are the 
grisettes. They are very pretty, and have the laudable 
little custom of falling deeply in love with one for five 
or six francs a piece. They are common enough all 
over Paris, but in this classical region they are as the 
leaves in Valambrosa. They are in the train of the 
muses, and love the groves of the Academy. A grisette, 
in this Latin Quarter, is a branch of education. If a 
student is ill, his faithful grisette nurses him and cures 
him ; if he is destitute, she works for him ; and if he falls 
into irretrievable misfortune, she dies with him. Thus a 
mutual dependence endears them to each other ; he 
defends her with his life, and sure of his protection, she 
feels her consequence, and struts in her new starched 
cap the reigning monarch of the Luxembourg. 

A grisette never obtrudes her acquaintance, but 
question her and you will find her circumstantially 
communicative. Such information as she possesses, and 
a great deal more, she will retail to you with a naivete 
and simplicity, you would swear she was brought up 
amongst your innocent lambs and turtle doves of the 
Shamoken. She is the most ingenious imitation of an 
innocent woman that is in the world ; and never was 
language employed more happily for the concealment 
of thought (I ask pardon of Prince Talleyrand) than in 
the mouth of a grisette. The devil is called the father 



200 GRISETTES— THEIR ARTIFICES. 

of lies (I ask pardon again of the Prince), but there is 
not one of these little imps bat can outdo her papa in 
this particular. When sent with goods from shop-keep- 
ers to^ their customers— the common practice of this 
place— she will lie and wrestle for her patron, and per- 
jure herself like a Greek ; when accused, she will listen 
to reproaches, insults, even abuse, as long as there is 
any point of defence, with the resignation of Saint 
Michael; and there is no trick of the stage, no artifice 
of rhetoric recommended by Cicero that she leaves out 
in her pleadings; if at last overcome — why, she sur- 
renders. She remains awhile mute, and then sets her- 
self to look sorry with all her might ; at last she bursts 
into tears, with sobs and sighs, until she disarms you. 
"Well, let me see what you have got." She will now 
wipe, away gracefully the briny drops with the corner 
of her apron; brighten up again, show you her goods 
again, and cheat you once more by way of reparation 
for her former rogueries. 

There is a modiste, lodged in the adjoining room, of 
New Orleans, who entertains about twenty of these 
every morning at her levee. I make sometimes one of 
the group, and from this opportunity and from the lady's 
information, I am thus learned about grisettes. 

Let us moralize a little on this subject. Paris is six 
times more populous than Philadelphia, and, for the 
same reason that the black sheep eat less than the white 
ones, we are six times less vicious than the Parisians. 
Again, circumstances make the same things less criminal 
at one time, and in one country, than another. W T e are 
not censorious of the Turk who has three wives; we 
say it is the religion of his country; when we would dis- 
own any one of our own citizens for half that number; 
nor do we blame very heartily Solomon for his excess 



CONJUGAL FIDELITY. 201 

of concubines, for we say it was the fashion of the times ; 
nor even Adam that his daughters married with their 
brothers ; we say it was a case of necessity. In Philadel- 
phia, every woman has before her the prospect of a mar- 
riage, and she would be not only vicious, but very im- 
prudent to forfeit her advantages ; necessity will not 
stand up in her defence. In Paris, there are twenty 
thousand, at least, of the sex, who have not the faintest 
hope or opportunity of marriage ; and if they, some- 
times, make the next good bargain they can, and vindi- 
cate the rights of nature over imperious circumstances, 
upon what propriety is their offence to be weighed in 
our American scale of religion and morals ? It is to be 
remarked, too, that the debasement of mind, produced 
by any vice, is influenced materially by the degree of 
odium and censure attached to it by the public opinion. 
Concubinage, so intolerable in our communities in both 
sexes, is here scarce a subject of remark in either. It 
prejudices no reputation; it does not throw a woman 
out of society ; she, therefore, cultivates agreeable talents, 
and preserves many of the excellent qualities of a ma- 
tron. In many instances, indeed, a Parisian woman is 
less corrupted, and much less exposed to corruption by 
being a mistress, than being a wife. The ancient Athe- 
nian society had partly the same character; that pro- 
duced the Aspasias, the Phrynes and Sapphos, and this 
the Ninon de I'Enclos. 

If you will but bear in mind that I am not defending 
the state of Paris society, but showing only how far the 
faults of individuals, who do not create but are subject 
to its laws, may be extenuated, I will venture to say 
also, that the gallantries of married women are much 
less pernicious, and much less wicked in Paris, than they 
would be in our American cities. You make your own 



202 POLICY OF SENDING YOUTH TO PARIS. 

marriages, which are generally well enough assorted; 
and your husbands, for several obvious reasons, are 
rather faithful ; but in Paris, where eighteen is tied to 
fifty, (the common condition,) and fifty too, worn out 
with libertinism and debauch, and where the husband 
keeps his mistress under the very nose of his wife, are 
you allowed injustice to exact the same conjugal faith 
from wives, or measure an act of infidelity, which pro- 
duces no scandal or -ruin of families, by the same stand- 
ard of criminality as in our country? I do not mean to 
say, by all this, that ladies faithful to their lords are not 
very common in this city; they are certainly not the less 
entitled to praise for being honest in a place where pub- 
lic opinion does not deter them from being the contrary. 
There are some French husbands so amiable, that even 
their wives cannot help loving them. 

It is important for one's mamma to know whether it 
is a good or bad fashion, that so common now-a-days, of 
sending a young gentleman, just stepping from youth 
into manhood, to Europe, especially to Paris. I will 
venture some remarks, for your information, though I 
have no very settled opinion on the subject. I know 
several Americans here, some engaged in medical and 
scientific schools, and some in painting and other arts, 
who appear to me to be exceedingly diligent, and to 
make a& profitable a use of their time, as they would 
anywhere else. I know some who mix pleasure with 
business, and a little folly with their wisdom ; and some 
(you will please put me in this class) who do not taste 
dissipation with their "extremest lips." But I know 
some also, who, under pretext of law and medicines, 
study mischief only, and return home worse, if possible, 
than when they came out. I know one now, who, 
having too much health, overruns his revenues occa- 



AMERICANS IN PARIS. 203 

sionally, and draws upon home for a doctor's and 
apothecary's bill; and another poor devil, who has 
gone to Mount Piete with his last trinket. There came 
one from the Mississippi lately, who, being very young, 
and rich and unmarried, set up a kind of seraglio, and 
died of love, yesterday ; they are burying him to-day, at 
Pere la Chaise. I know one, also, who has lived here 
nine years, who reads Voltaire, keeps a French cook, 
and his principles are as French as his stomach ; and 
another, who entertains the French noblesse with fetes 
and soirees, to the tune of a hundred thousand per an- 
num — from his stable thirty-six horses, full bred, better 
than many of his majesty's subjects, come prancing 
out o.n days of jubilee upon the Boulevards. 

If a young man's morals should get out of order at 
home, Paris is not exactly the place to which I would send 
him to be cured. It is true, if drunkenness be the com 
plaint, it is not a vice of the place ; and, if curable at all, 
which I do not believe, Paris, from its common use of 
light wines, and variety of amusements, is perhaps the 
best place to make the attempt. It is certainly not the 
most dangerous place of falling into this vice. If he be 
fond of gambling, here it is a genteel accomplishment, 
and brought out under the patronage of the government. 
And to keep a mistress is not only not disgraceful ill 
French society, but is always mentioned to one's credit. 
It is a part of a gentleman's equipage, and adds to his 
gentility, for it implies that he possesses that most 
considerable merit, that a gentleman can aspire to in 
this country, and most others — money. " 11 a la plus 
jolie maitresse de Paris!" you cannot say anything 
more complimentary, if it were of the prime minister; 
and it would scarce be an injurious imputation if said of 
one's father confessor. If you send, then, your son to 



204 PARISIAN MORALS. 

Paris, am I uncharitable in surmising that he may, 
sometimes, use the privilege of the place ? It is, indeed, 
a question for philosophy to determine, (and not for me,) 
which of the two may be the less injurious to his health 
and' morals, the gross intercourse he is exposed to in 
some other towns, or the more refined gallantries of the 
French capital. If you can preserve him, by religions 
and other influences from either, as well as from the 
dangers of an ascetic and solitary abstinence — for soli- 
tude has its vices as well as dissipation — so much the 
better. He will be a better husband, a better citizen, 
and a better man. Bat let me tell you that to educate 
a young man of fortune and leisure to live through a 
youth of honesty, has become excessively difficult even 
in any country; and to expect that, with money and 
address, he will live entirely honest in Paris, where 
women of a good quality are thrown in his face — 
women of art, of beauty, and refined education — it is to 
attribute virtues to human nature she is no way enti- 
tled to. The Greeks used to indulge their sons, waiting 
a fit marriage, with mistresses of " decent and respecta- 
ble character ;" and entertained them, even, sometimes, 
under the paternal roof; this they thought necessary to 
the preservation of their morals and health. If you 
love the Greeks, then, send yo^r son over by the next 
packet. He may have some trouble with his conscience, 
perhaps, the first month or two, but, by degrees, he 
will become reconciled, and get along well enough. If 
he comes over, with some refinement of taste, and moral 
inclinations and habits, or only on a transient visit, or 
without French, he will be secure from all the dangers 
(except, perhaps, gambling) to which I have alluded; 
he will live only in American society, which is quite as 
good and pure here as at home ; he will have no ac- 



VICES OF THE CAPITAL. 205 

quaintance with the natives, but of that class in which a 
gentleman's morals run less risk of temptation than even 
from the vulgar intercourse of American towns. All 
that part of a city like Paris, that comes into relation 
with strangers, and lives by deceiving and plundering 
them, is of course gross and corrupt; and as the best 
things are the worst when spoilt, the women are de- 
testable ; even when there is youth or beauty, its natural 
feelings are perverted and worn out by use ; it is flat 
beer, stale without being ripe. I do not know any 
community in which the honesty of a gentleman is so 
safe from contamination. 

It is certainly of much value in the life of an Ame- 
rican gentleman to visit these old countries; if it were 
only to form a just estimate of his own, which he is 
continually liable to mistake, and always to overrate 
without objects of comparison ; " nimhim se sestimet 
necesse est, qui se nemini comparat." He will always 
think himself wise, who sees nobody wiser; and to 
know the customs and institutions of foreign countries, 
which one cannot know well without residing there, is 
certainly the complement of a good education. The 
American society at Paris, taken altogether, is of a good 
composition. It consists of several hundred persons, of 
families of fortune, and young men of liberaL instruc- 
tion. Here are lords of cotton from Carolina, and of 
sugar-cane from the Mississippi, millionaires from all 
the Canadas, and pursers from all the navies; and their 
social qualities, from a sense of mutual dependence or 
partnership in absence, or some such causes, are more 
active abroad than at home. The benevolent affections 
act in a contrary way from gravitation; they increase as 
the square of the distance from the centre. The plain 
fact is, that Americans at Paris are hospitable in a very 
vol. i. — 18 



206 AMERICAN SOCIETY IN PARIS. 

high degree; they have no fear of being dogged with 
company, and have leisure here which they have no- 
where else, to be amiable; the new comer, too, is more 
tender and thankful, and has a higher relish of hospita- 
lity and kindness; and the general example of the place 
has its effect on their animal spirits. They form a little 
republic apart, and when a stranger arrives, he finds 
himself at home ; he finds himself also under the cen- 
sorial inspection of a public opinion, a salutary restraint 
not always the luck of those who travel into foreign 
countries. One thing only is to be blamed. It becomes 
every day more the fashion for the ilite of our cities to 
settle themselves here permanently. We cannot but 
deplore this exportation of the precious metals, since 
our country is drained of what the supply is not too 
abundant. They who have resided here a few years, 
having fortune and leisure, do not choose, as I perceive, 
to reside anywhere else. 

It is now midnight and more. I have said so much 
in this letter about grisettes, that I shall have a night- 
mare of them before morning. This " Latin Quarter" 
is one of the most instructing volumes of Paris, but all I 
can do is just open you here and there some of its pages 
and show you the pictures — pictures in this country, 
recollect, are more h decouvert than in America. Please 
make the allowance. Good night. 



THE OBSERVATORY. 207 



LETTER XI. 

The Observatory — The astronomers — Val de Grace — Anne of Austria 
— Hospice des Enfans Trouves — Rows of cradles - Sisters of 
Charity — Vincent de Paul — Maisons d'Accouchement — Place St. 
Jacques — The Catacombs — Skull of Ninon de l'Enclos — The poet 
Gilbert — Julian's Bath — Hotel de Cluny — Ancient furniture — 
Francis the First's bed — Charlotte Corday — Danton — Marat- 
Robespierre— Rue des Postes — Convents of former times — Fau- 
bourg St. Marceau. 

Paris, Oct. 25th. 

I rose this morning and refreshed myself from the 
repose of the night, by running boyishly np the broad 
and elegant walk which leads to the south end of the 
garden, to the Observatory ; the place where they make 
almanacks; I went and saw great piles of astronomical 
books and instruments, an anemometer to measure the 
winds, and another affair baptized also in Greek, to 
measure the rain ; also a thing in the cellar, which in 
this Latin Quarter, they call an " acoustic phenomenon." 
By this you can talk aloud all day to any individual 
standing in a particular place, and not another of the 
company will be any the wiser for it. There are a 
number of men here whom they call Astronomers, who, 
while we are asleep, look after the stars, and observe 
what is going on in the moon ; and who go to bed with 
Venus and the heavenly bodies towards morning. I 
must tell you what 1 saw in coming out. I saw a 
woman, and a very decent woman too, astride of the 
Meridian. She had one foot in East, and the other all 



208 VAL DE GRACE. 

the way in West longitude. This was her way of 
straddling a pole. 

There was an old woman here in a little stall, upon a 
broad and paved place in front of the Observatory, who 
sells tobacco and butter, belly-guts and epic poems, who 
showed me the very stone upon which Marshal Ney 
stood to be shot. " There stood the wretches that shot 
him. Yes, sir, I saw him murdered, and I never wish to 
see the like asrain." 

Just east I visited another remarkable building, which 
young girls read about in their romances, called Val de 
Grace. Anne of Austria had been married twenty-two 
years, without having, as they say in London, any hair 
to her crown, and she did not know what to do about 
it. She first prayed to the Lord as Rachel had done in 
a similar torment, and the Lord was deaf unto her pray- 
ers. She then applied to certain Benedictine monks of 
St. Jacques. She promised to build them a temple, and 
they interceded for her, and she had a fine son ; you 
have perhaps heard of Louis XIV. Now this church 
which she built, was Val de Grace. If you wish to 
see the prettiest fresco paintings of all Paris, you must 
go in here and look up at the dome ; the chapels, too, 
are full of virgins and musty little angels. She came 
here in 1624, and laid the corner stone with her own 
little hands — Anne of Austria did. And she bestowed 
some special privileges upon the monastery ; amongst 
others, the right of burying in this church the hearts 
of all the defunct princesses, beginning with herself; 
and at the Revolution " one counted even to twenty-six 
royal hearts." The convent of Val de Grace is now 
turned into a military hospital, and greasy soldiers are 
stabled where once lived and breathed the pretty nuns 
you read of in your novels. 



FOUNDLING HOSPITAL. 209 

Just in the neighborhood is the Hospice des Enfans 
Trouves, to which I paid a hasty visit. If a child takes 
it into its head to be born oat of lawful wedlock, which 
now and then occurs, it is carried to this hospital for 
nourishment and education. The average number ad- 
mitted here, is 6000 annually; 161 per day. They are 
received day and night, and no questions asked. All you 
have to do is, place the little human being in a box com 
municating with an apartment in the interior, which on 
ringing a bell, is taken in, and gets on afterwards well 
enough, often better than we who think ourselves legiti- 
mate. It sucks no diseases from its mother's milk; and 
from its father's example no vices ; and it has a good 
many virtues incident to its condition. It has amongst 
these a great reverence for old age, not knowing but 
that every old gentleman it meets might be a little its 
papa. 

On entering this hospital you will see two long rows 
of cradles running over with babies, and a group of sis- 
ters in gowns of black serge, making and mending up 
the baby wardrobe, or extending to the little destitute 
creatures the offices of maternity ; and indeed they take 
such care of them as almost to discourage poor peo- 
ple from having legitimate children altogether. I have 
no doubt that many an excellent mother in passing by 
repents sincerely that her poor children are not misbe- 
gotten; and that the little rogues too themselves, as they 
toddle along outside in their sabots, to their day's work, 
without their breakfast, wish to the Lord such things 
had never been born as honest mammies to forestall their 
advantages. But what praise can be equal to the merits 
of these Sisters of Charity? You see them everywhere 
that suffering humanity needs their assistance ; their de- 
votion has no parallel in the history of the world. They 

18* 



210 VINCENT DE PAUL. 

are very often, too, of rich and distinguished families, 
women who leave all enjoyments of gay society, to pur- 
sue these humble and laborious duties, to practice in these 
silent walls, prudence, patience, fortitude^ and all those 
domestic virtues and peaceful moralities, which, in this 
naughty world of ours, obtain neither admiration nor 
distinction. Think only of relinquishing fashion, and 
rank, and pleasure to be granny to an almshouse! 

This hospital was founded by one of the most re- 
spectable saints of all Paris, Vincent de Paul. His statue 
is placed in the vestibule. It would do your heart good 
to see the babies go down on their bits of knees every 
evening and bless the memory of this Saint. A cradle 
used to be hung up as a sign to draw customers here, 
but the reputation of the house is now made, and it is 
taken down. Formerly the ringing of a bell, too, or the 
wailings of the infant, the mother giving it a pinch, was 
enough to announce a new comer, but lately so many 
dead children have been put in the box to avoid the 
expense of burying them, that they have been obliged to 
stop up the hole. I am sorry for this ; it was so con- 
venient. You just put in a baby as you put in a letter in 
the post-office; now you are obliged to carry it into a 
room inside, where the names, dress, the words and 
behavior of those who bring it, as also its death, are 
entered in a register ; this register is kept a profound 
secret; never revealed to any one, unless one pays twenty 
francs. 

I visited the school-rooms, where those of proper age 
are taught to read and write. They seem very merry 
and happy, and, having no communication with the 
world, are unconscious of any inferiority of birth; they 
think we all come the same way. When very young 
or sickly, they are pin out to nurse through the country, 



MAISONS D'ACCOUCHEMENT. 211 

and at twelve are apprenticed to a trade. The sisters 
will point you out a mother who has placed her infant 
here and got herself employed as child's nurse to the 
hospital to give it nourishment and care. I forgot to 
mention that mothers are not allowed to see their babies, 
or receive their bodies if they die; they are reserved for 
the improvement of anatomical science. 

A useful appendage to this establishment are the 
numerous Maisons d? Accouchement, distributed every- 
where over the city, in which persons find accommoda- 
tions, as secretly as they please, and at all prices to suit 
their circumstances. The evils of all these establish- 
ments are manifest ; the good is, the prevention of in- 
fanticide, often of suicide, and of the perjuries innume- 
rable, and impositions practised in some other countries. 
I doubt whether a city like Paris could safely adopt any 
other system. The tables of the last year's birth stand 
thus: seventeen thousand one hundred and twenty-nine 
legitimate ; nine thousand seven hundred and twenty- 
one illegitimate. So you see that every second man you 
meet in Paris wants but a trifle of being no bastard. 
Expense above a million and a half of francs. 

Here is the Place St. Jacques ; the place of public 
execution. It is the present station of the Guillotine, 
which has already made several spots of the city classi- 
cal. And here is appropriately the Barriere d'Enfer. 
These barriers are found at all the great issues from 
the city through the walls. They are amongst the 
curiosities of Paris ; often beautiful with sculpture, and 
other ornaments. 

Whilst I was surveying this district, in my usual 
solitary way, I met two gentlemen and a lady, ac- 
quaintances, who were descending into the Catacombs, 
whose opening is just here ; and I went down with 



212 THE CATACOMBS. — NINON DE l'eNCLOS. 

them. This nether world bears upon its vaults three 
fourths of the Quarter St. Germain, with its superin- 
cumbent mass of churches and palaces. The light of 
Heaven is shut out, and so deep a silence reigns in its 
recesses, that one hears his own footsteps walking after 
him, and is so vast that several visitors, straying away 
a few years ago, have not yet returned. The bones 
of fifty generations are emptied here from ancient grave- 
yards of Paris, now only known to history. What 
a hideous deformity of skulls ! After entering half 
a mile we saw various constructions, all made out of 
these remnants of mortality ; sepulchral monuments, 
an entire church, with its pulpit, confessional, altars, 
tombs, and coffins; and the victims of several Revolu- 
tionary massacres are laid out here chronologically. 
How unjacobinical they look I 

On entering you are confronted with the following 
inscription : " Jlrrete, c'est ici V empire de la Mort !" 
and various other inscriptions are put up in the dead 
languages, and names often written upon skulls, to 
designate their owners. "Fix your eyes here/' said 
our lady; ^"this is the skull of Ninon de l'Enclos," 
with verses. 

" L'indulgente et sage Nature 
A forme lame de Ninon. 
De la volupte d'Epicure, 
Et de la vertu de Canton." 

i 
And this is her skull ! Every one knows her history, 
but I will tell a little of it over again. I will give you 
a list of her court. Moliere, Corneille, Scarron, St. 
Evermond, Chapelle, Desmarets, Mignard, Chateauneuf, 
Chaulieu, Conde, Vendome, Villeroi, Villars, D'Estrees, 
La Rochefoucauld, Choiseuil, Sevigne and Fontenelle. 
She was honored with the confidence of Madame Scar- 



THE POET GILBERT. 213 

ron, and the homage, through her ambassadors, of the 
Queen of Sweden. She made conquests at sixty, one 
at seventy, and died at ninety. Her own son, the Che- 
valier de Viiliers, fell in love with her at fifty, and fell 
upon his sword, when she revealed to him the se- 
cret of his birth. The Chevalier de Gourville confided 
to her twenty thousand crowns, when driven to exile, 
and a like sum to the Grand Penitencier; the priest 
denied the deposit, and the courtezan restored it, un- 
asked. I visited, a month ago, her chateau, and saw 
the rooms in which she used to give her famous supper 
"it tous les Despreaux, et tous les Ratines." And 
this is her skull ! While my doctor companions were 
turning it about, and explaining the bumps— how big 
was her ideality, how developed her amativeness, I 
turned her about in my mind, until I had turned her into 
shapes again — into that incomparable beauty and grace, 
which no rival was able to equal, and which sensuality 
itself was not able to degrade. I hung back the lips 
upon those grinning teeth, I gave her her smile again, 
her wit, and her eloquence. I assisted at her little court 
of Cyprus, in the Rue de Tournelle, where philosophers 
came to gather wisdom, and courtiers grace from her 
conversation ; I assisted at her toilet, and witnessed the 
hopes, the jealousies, the agonies, and ecstacies of her 
lovers. And so we took leave of the exquisite Ninon's 
skull — if it was hers. 

The poet Gilbert, who died of want, has here an 
apartment to himself, which he had not above ground. 
It is inscribed with his own mournful epitaph : 

" Au banquet de la vie, infortune convive, 
J'apparus un jour, et je meurs. 
Je meurs, et sur ma tombe, oh lentement j'arrive, 
Nul ne viendra verser des pleurs !" 

I could not help contradicting him for the life of me. 



214 JULIAN BATHS. 

In the very interior of the cavern are collections of 
water which have classical names. Here is the Styx 
just under the Ecole Medecine, and the river Lethe 
flows hard by the Institute. We came at length to the 
cabinet of skulls, arranged upon shelves, some for phre- 
nology, and some for pathology, exhibiting in classes 
the several diseases; which our doctors explained with 
nice circumstantiality, to their Sibyl conductor; rows 
of toes, of fingers, and jaws, and legs which used 
to cut pigeon-wings, and pirouettes, alas ! how grace- 
fully. In the mean time I saw a couple of ghosts, (I 
supposed them to be Cuvier, and Dr. Gali,) skulking 
away as soon as they caught a glimpse of our tapers, 
and 1 saw a great many other things, not interesting to 
people above ground. We began now to be apprehen- 
sive of taking cold, and being sent hither to enrich these 
cabinets; and so we deposited at the door our golden 
branch, and having mounted a strait stairway one hun- 
dred feet were purified in open air. 

The two doctors now left me their Eurydice, and 
she and I, being inspired alike with the spirit of sight- 
seeing, went a few hundred yards westward and saw 
Julian's Baths. Though he is said to have been 
little addicted to bathing, here are his baths, the only 
relic of his sojourn in Paris. This old building is an 
oblong with very thick walls, which are crumbling to 
decay. One of them is entirely dilapidated. The vaults, 
rising forty-two feet above the soil, and furnaces under 
ground, and parts of the bathing-rooms, are exposed to 
view, in all the naked majesty of a ruin ; a ruin, too, of 
fifteen centuries. This is but a single hall of an im- 
mense palace— the Palais des Thermes — which once 
covered the present site of the University. It was the 
scene of licentious revelings and crime, " latebra scele- 



ANCIENT FURNITURE. 215 

rum, Venerisque accommoda furtis" afterwards of 
the theological disputes of the Sorbonne, and now of the 
quiet lectures of the University; and Virgin Maries are 
now made out of the old Venuses. I am a goose of 
an antiquary; all I could see was Mrs. Julien jumping 
into her bath and coming dribbling out again ; but my 
companion was very different. She had a taste for 
putting her nose in every musty corner, and cracking 
off pieces of a bath, and the Roman mortar, of which 
posterity has lost the secret, to put in her cabinet. She 
has overrun all Europe, and has now got, she says, near 
a ton of antiquities. She has a stone from Kenil- 
worth, and a birch from Virgil's tomb, plenty of mo- 
saics from the Coliseum, and of " auld nick-nackets," 
from Stirling castle. She has promised me a leaf from 
Tasso's lemon tree, and one from Rousseau's rose bush, 
also a twig of William Tell's tree of liberty, and Shaks- 
peare's mulberry, and a little chip of Doctor John- 
son's cedar at Streatham. And nearly all our traveling 
Yankee ladies are bringing over a similar collection ; 
after a while the commonest thing in the world will be 
a curiosity. 

Close in this neighborhood is the Hotel de Cluny, to 
which we paid also a visit — I having a ticket from Mr. 
Sommerand, the proprietor. In this hotel used to lodge 
Roman generals and emperors, and the first French 
kings. A suit of seven or eight rooms are crammed 
with furniture, the remains of the last age ; some of it 
magnificently decayed ; commodes, chests, boxes, se- 
cond-hand tootn-brushes, pots de chambre as good as 
new, and other national relics. Nothing cotemporary 
enters here ; there was nothing, but the lady who ac- 
companied me, under a hundred years old. First, we 



216 BED OF FRANCIS FIRST. 

entered the dining-room, and saw a knight in full armor 
placed by a table ; and the ghost of a mahogany side- 
board at the opposite end — without date, and there is no 
knowing whether it was made before or since the flood— 
with its knives and spoons and earthenware tea-cups of 
the same antiquity ; next a bed-chamber, hung in gilt 
leather — whose, do you think? Why Francis the First's, 
with ail the implements thereunto belonging. An entire 
suit of steel armor, cap-a-pie, reposes upon the bed, with 
a vizor of the knight's, which had gained victories in 
jousts and tournaments ; also an old coat out at the el- 
bows, worn last, I presume, by his footman. Every little 
rag of his is preserved here. Here, too, are girdles and 
bracelets, caskets, and other valuables, and a necklace 
with its pedigree labeled on a bit of parchment ; the Belle 
Feroniere's, I suppose. Here is the very glass he looked 
into, with a Venus holding a garland in front, and a cross 
and altar behind, by way of symmetry; and here are the 
very spurs (I held them in my hand) which he wore at 
Pavia ; finally, the very bed, the very sheets his Majesty 
slept in. This bed was hawked about all Paris in the 
Revolution — Mrs. Griggou had twins on it — at last it 
was sold at auction in the public streets, a dix francs 
settlement, and was knocked down to Monsieur Som- 
merand — bed, comfortable, and the little pillow about as 
big as a sausage. I was much gratified with this collec- 
tion, which is certainly unique in the world ; and you 
are not hurried through by a Cicerone, but by the com- 
plaisance of M. Sommerand, you can rummage and ran- 
sack things at your leisure. In the other rooms are 
vases and caskets, and precious cabinets, a spinette of 
Marie de Medicis, and other furniture of noble dames; 
one gets tired looking at their trinkets ; and in other 



CHARLOTTE CORDAY. 217 

rooms are castings, and inlayings, and carvings, and so 
forth. 

I now took madam under my arm, and descending 
through one of the thousand and eighty streets of Paris 
into the Rue de VEcole Medecine, deposited her at her 
home. You should never pass into this street without 
stopping awhile to contemplate a very memorable dwell- 
ing in it — that in which Charlotte Corday assassinated 
Marat. One owes to this generous maid and disinterested 
martyr to humanity, a tribute in approaching its thresh- 
old. The house is also otherwise remarkable. Danton 
used to call here of a morning from the bottom of the 
stairs upon Marat, and then they went arm in arm to 
the Convention ; and Collet d'Herbois, the actor — what 
memorable names! and Chabot the Capuchin, Legendre 
the butcher, Chaumette the Atheist, and St. Just and 
Robespierre— used to hold here their nightly councils. It 
would puzzle Beelzebub to get up such another club. 
Under the outer doorway are remaining the letters 
* * or D * % a part of the inscription effaced, " Li- 
berty, Indivisibility, or Death \" 

I now dined and traversed leisurely the Place du 
Pantheon homewards, passing through the Rue de V Es- 
trapade into the Rue des Pastes, once famous for its 
convents. This is to a pious man, and one who lives a 
little back into the past, a holy region ; it is consecrated 
by religious recollections beyond all the other spots of 
Paris. Here, in this single " Rue des Posies/' was the 
old " Convent des Dames de St. Angus tin" — " des 
Dames St. Thomas" — "des Dames Ursulines" — " des 
Dames de la Visitation!" — "de V Adoration Perpe- 
tuelle," — " du St. Sacrament." — Alas! how many 
pretty women, born to fulfil a better destiny, mewed up 

VOL. I. 19 



218 CONVENTS. 

in perpetual youth, within those dismal cloisters ! Here, 
too, were the convents of the " Filles de V Immacutte 
Conception" — " de la St. Providence" and finally, 
" les Filles de Bonne VolonteP It is the very region 
of repentant lovers, of heart-sick maids, and of all the 
friars and holy nuns of the romances. Towards the 
close of a summer's evening, one's fancy sees nothing 
here but visions and spectres. You will descend, in spite 
of your reason, with Madam Radcliff,into the subterra- 
nean chambers of the convent, and into the solitary 
prisons, where you will see poor Ellena and her iron 
table, her dead lantern, her black bread, her cruche of 
water, and her crucifix; and you will see the wretch 
Schedoni bare the bosom of the sleeping maid, and hang- 
ing over the dagger. It is his own miniature ! — his own 
daughter ! And then you will walk through the long 
row of silent monks, and smoky tapers in the funeral of 
a broken-hearted sister, the sullen bell of the chapel 
giving news that a soul has fled. 

The evening was still and solemn; and the sun just 
descending on your side of the globe ; and lured by the 
novelty of the place, I traveled slowly onwards through 
a narrow lane to the Faubourg St. Marceau. This 
street is different from all that I had seen in Paris ; it is 
perhaps different from anything that is to be seen upon 
the earth. The houses are so immensely high that not 
a ray even in the brightest mid-day reaches the pave- 
ment, which is covered with a slimy mud. The dark- 
ened and grated windows give to the houses the look 
of so many prisons. A chilling damp, and horrid gloom 
invest you around ; you feel stifled for want of air. 
Now and then the whine of a dog, or the wailing of a 
beggar, interrupts the silence, and sometimes a Sister of 



GLOOMY STREET. 219 

Charity, wrapped in her hood and mantle, passes quick 
from one house to another. I went out willingly of this 
street, growing more horrible by the coming night, into 
the purer atmosphere of the Seine. And thus ended 
my adventure for the day. 



END OF VOL. I. 



THE AMERICAN 



IN 



PARIS. 



BY 



JOHN SANDERSON 



IN TWO VOLUMES. 



VOL. II. 



THIRD EDITION 



PHILADELPHIA: 

PUBLISHED BY CAREY & HART. 

1847. 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1839, by E. L. Carey & A. 
Hart, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Eastern District of 
Pennsylvania. 



PHILADELPHIA: 
T. K. AND P. G. COLLINS, PRINTERS. 



CONTENTS. 



LETTER XII. 

Mass at St. Roch for Admiral de Rigny — The Abbe Lacordaire at 
Notre Dame — State of the French church — St. Genevieve — St. 
Etienne du Mont — the American child at prayers — St. Medard— Its 
miracles — Chapelle de St. Nicholas — The Madelaine — Notre Dame 
— St. Denis — St. Sulpice — The church service — Celibacy of the 
clergy — American churches — Manner of keeping Sunday 13—32 



LETTER XIII. 

Pere la Chaise — Funeral of Bellini — Grave merchants — Description 
of the cemetery — Graves of the rich and the poor — The Fete des 
Morts — Tomb of Abelard and Heloise — Remarkable personages 
buried there — The aristocracy of the grave — Monument of Foy 
— Inscription — Graveyards in cities and towns — French regula- 
tions for the inhumation of the dead - - - - 33 — 60 



LETTER XIV. 

The Louvre— Patronage of the fine arts— The Luxembourg— The 
Palais des Beaux Arts — The Sevres porcelain — The Gobelins — 
Manners of the common people in Paris— A fair cicerone — Her 



CONTENTS. 



remarks on painting — The French, Flemish, and Italian schools — 
English patronage of art — The new national gallery — Sir Christo- 
pher Wren — A tender adieu 60 — 77 



LETTER XV. 

The schools — State of literature — Minister of Public Instruction- 
Education in France — Prussian system — Parochial school — Nor- 
mal schools — Institutions of Paris — Public libraries — Machinery 
of French justice — The judges — Eloquence of the bar — Medicine 
—Corporations of learning — Their evils — The French Institute — 
Pretended new system of instruction — Professors of Paris 

78—104 



LETTER XVI. 

Ladies' boarding schools —Names of the professors in the prospectus 
— System of education — American schools — Preference for sci- 
ence — High intellectual acquirements not approved — Learned 
women — American girls — Comparison of French and American 
society — The care to preserve female beauty — Expression of the 
mouth — Dress of American women — Notions of the maternal 
character — Studies in ladies' schools — Literary associations — So- 
ciete Geographique — French lady authors — Living writers — Cha- 
teaubriand — Beranger — Lamartine — Victor Hugo — Casimir de la 
Vigne — Alfred de Vigny — Guizot — Thiers — Thierry — Segur — La- 
cretelle — Sismondi - - 104—121 



LETTER XVII. 

The theatres — Mademoiselle Mars— Theatre Royal— Italien — Grisi — 
Academie Royal de Musique — Taglioni — Miss Fanny Elssler — The 
Varietes — The Odeon— Mademoiselle George — Hamlet — Repub- 



CONTENTS. XI 

lican spirit of the age — Character of the French stage — Machinery 
of the drama — The Claqueurs— Supply of new pieces — The Vau- 
devillists— M. Scribe — The diorama — Concerts — Music 122 — 139 



LETTER XVIII. 

Parisian habits — The Chaussee d'Antin — Season of bon-bons — Jour 
de l'An — Commencement of the season — The Carnival — Recep- 
tion at the Tuileries — Lady Granville — The royal family — Court 
ceremonies — Ball at the Hotel de Ville — French beauty — A Bal 
de Charite — Lord Canterbury — Buhver — Sir Sydney Smith— The 
Court balls — Splendid scene — The Princess Amelia — Comparison 
between country and city life 139 — 154 



LETTER XIX. 

Execution of Fieschi — The French House of Commons — French 
eloquence— Thiers — Guizot — Berryer — Abuse of America — The 
Chamber of Peers — Interior of the Madelaine — Bribery— False 
oaths — The middle classes — America and England — Opinions of 
America — English travelers in America — Mrs. Trollope — Captain 
Basil Hall — Miss Fanny Kemble — Test of good breeding in Ame- 
rica — American feeling towards England— Their mutual interests 

155—170 



LETTER XX. 

The dancing fever — The grand masquerade — Fooleries of the Car- 
nival — Mardi Gras — Splendid equipages — Masquerades — An ad- 
Venture — Educated women— The Menus Plaisirs — A fancy ball — 
Porte St. Martin — The masked balls — Descente de la Courtille — 
End of the Carnival— Birth-day of Washington - 171—182 



Xll CONTENTS. 



LETTER XXI. 

Evening parties at the Duchess d'Abrantes' — Mode of admission— 
The weather — Suicides— Madame le Norman, the sibyl— Parisian 
reunions — Manners of French women — American soirees — Furni- 
ture — Hints on etiquette — Manners in Parisian high life — Conver- 
sation—Dress — Qualifications for an exquisite — Smoking — Rules 
for dinner - • - 182—202 



LETTER XXII. 

The Lap-dog — The dame blanche — The beauty in a gallery — The 
— Lingere — Madame Frederic — Fete de Longchamps — Parisian 
Fashions — Holy Concerts — Pretty women — Empire of fashion- 
Reign of beauty— The fashionable lady - - - 202—215 

LETTER XXIII. 

Return of spring — A new Venus — The Artesian well — Montmartre 
— Donjon of Vincennes — St. Ouen — St. Germain— The Pretender 
—Machine de Marli — Versailles — The Water Works— The Swiss 
garden — Trianon — Races at Chantilly — Stables of the great Conde 
— Lodgings in a French village — a domestic occurrence — The 
boots— The alarm — The bugs — Extract from Pepys — Delights of 
Chantilly — Unlucky days — Solitude in a crowd — The Cure — The 
king's birth-day — The concert — The fireworks — The illuminations 
— The buffoons — Punch — The eating department — The Mat de 
Cocagne 215—240 



THE AMERICAN IN PARIS. 



LETTER XII. 

Mass at St. Roch for Admiral de Rigny — The Abbe Lacordaire at 
Notre Dame — State of the French church — St. Genevieve — St. 
Etienne du Mont — the American child at prayers — St. Medard — Its 
miracles — Chapelle de St. Nicholas— The Madelaine — Notre Dame 
— St. Denis — St. Sulpice — The church service — Celibacy of the 
clergy — American churches — Manner of keeping Sunday. 

Paris, November 14th, 1835. 
I attended yesterday a mass said at St. Roch's for 
the soul of the Admiral de Rigny, who was famous, you 
know, for much fighting at sea and land, especially at 
Navarino, and for much talking in the Chamber of Peers 
about the American Indemnity. He was never chary 
about dying, he said, but he thought it unlucky to be 
snatched away just when he was wanted to chastise 
" Old Hickory" for his impudent Message. By the by, 
all the world is talking war here by the hour with great 
fluency and ignorance; newspapers and conversation 
full of abuse. They send out privateers by five hun- 
dreds, and take our ships as kites catch chickens. Worst 
of all, they don't leave an American alive, and they kill 
us all off without losing a man. — The Admiral's hearse 
was rich with the spoils of vanquished enemies, and was 
vol. n. — 2 



14 FRENCH ORATORY. 

escorted by ten thousand French heroes to Pere la Chaise, 
with thrilling music from all the military bands, and with 
a pomp and circumstance suitable to the dignity of so 
great a personage. 

I went this morning with everybody to Notre Dame 
to hear the celebrated Abbe Lacordaire preach. He was 
too eloquent ! Oratory in this country, at least in the 
pulpit, has her trumpet always at full blast, and an- 
nounces the smallest little news with the emphasis of a 
miracle. Her method is to run up to the top of the voice 
and then pour out her whole spirit, as your Methodists 
on Guinea Hill, until human nature is exhausted, and 
then to take a drink and begin again. 1 will set you a 
French sermon, if you please, to the gamut, >and you 
may play it on the piano. You must know that the 
Parisian young men, having got into credit at the last 
Revolution, (and they were not oppressed with modesty 
before that event,) now give tone to society. The device 
of the nation is " Young France." It is young France 
that measures merit and deals out reputation ; so it is 
not strange that they should set up this Abbe for a Bos- 
suet or a Bourdaloue, any more than that an eye un- 
practised in painting should set up a tawdry piece of 
daubing above the chaste and excellent compositions of 
genius. It is true there is not a class of young men in 
any country more earnest in the pursuit of letters than 
these French, but youth is not the age of good taste, and 
is not the age that ought to govern public sentiment in 
any department of life. 

In old France, the church being rich and honorable, 
was filled by persons well educated and refined by good 
society. For a long time there has been no permanent 
public esteem to encourage talent among the clergy, or 
restrain them from vices degrading to their order. Re- 



STATE OF RELIGION. 15 

ligion, which had nearly perished in the Revolution, had 
but feeble health under the Empire, and Louis XVIII. 
and Charles so favored the priesthood, especially the Je- 
suits, and at the same time so misgoverned the nation, 
that they had again brought it to its last gasp at the ac- 
cession of Louis Philippe. There was a time when even 
admission to the Duchesse of Berri's ball required one 
to go to the communion and take the sacrament. The 
present king has fallen in with the popular sentiment, 
and is gradually changing this sentiment to the side of 
the clergy, showing in this as in most things else the 
ability of a good statesman. He sends his own family 
to church and it begins to be fashionable to be seen there. 
Not, indeed, from any reverence for religion. Things 
venerable in this country have had their day, and, as far 
as religion is concerned, the bump of veneration is worn 
out of the human skull. But the world rushes to Notre 
Dame in the morning, and to the Opera in the evening, 
and to both, for the same purpose; for the crowd, for the 
music and dramatic effect, for the emotion, for the fash- 
ion. I had a student with me this morning ; a young 
gentleman who has just made his debut in the world of 
beards, and judging from his conversation it would take 
a fifty-parson power at least to get him to heaven; but 
he was enthusiastic in admiration of the sermon. Let 
the Abbe Lacordaire preach when he will, Notre Dame 
is mobbed with worshipers. 

I believe I will take advantage of my unusual serious- 
ness, as it is to-day Sunday, to tell you all I know about 
such divine things as French churches. Almost every 
saint in the Almanac has acquired the honors of at least 
one. There are forty-five of Roman, one of Greek, and 
two of Independent French Catholics; and the churches 
for Protestant service^ are three French and two English, 



16 FRENCH CHURCHES. 

besides a synagogue; and there are several places of 
worship in private houses and palaces. All the Catholic 
churches are decorated with the most costly furniture ; 
with saints, virgins, and angels in statuary and painting 
by the best masters. Why, the gold and silver expended 
in this old church of Notre Dame upon Virgin Maries 
alone, would make a railroad to the Havre. 

One of the most beautiful of these churches, and my 
next neighbor, too, is St. Genevieve, now called the 
Pantheon, once the " abode of Gods whose shrines no 
longer burn." It is now the national sepulchre for great 
men. It is 250 feet high and overtops majestically all 
Paris. It was designed to rival the great St. Paul's of 
London. On one of the cupolas of the dome, which is 
surrounded by a colonnade of Corinthian pillars, is 
painted the apotheosis of St. Genevieve. Her saintship 
is in costume of a shepherdess, breathing all peace, all 
happiness, all immortality. Nothing of earth is in her 
composition. Beside her is Louis XVIII., and little 
winged angels. They are very busy — the angels — in 
scattering flowers about the saint. Over her is Louis 
XVI., and his queen, as elegant as she was upon the 
threshold of Versailles, and Louis XVII. all surrounded 
by celestial glory. Before her are the persons the most 
illustrious of each race ; Clovis, who looks very savage ; 
St. Clotilde, very pretty ; Charlemagne very heroic ; arid 
St. Louis and Queen Marguerite, who look very pious. 
They are now effacing these figures for something more 
suitable to the occasion. 

The floor of this temple, incrusted with various 
colored marble, is very remarkable, and very beautiful. 
It is exclusively occupied by Voltaire and Rousseau, at 
opposite extremities.* Why did they not lay them 

* Who would have thought that these two champions of Infidelity, 



ANCIENT AND MODERN HEROES. 17 

at the side of each other, that we might all learn how 
vain are the jealousies, the petty competitions and 
animosities of men so soon to come to this appointed 
and unavoidable term of all human contentions. These 
are the only two who are buried above ground. It 
was once the custom of these old countries to multiply 
a man by burying him piecemeal, his. heart at Rouen 
and his legs in Kent, because the world was then on 
short allowance of heroes; but modern times have 
reversed this practice; and Bonaparte has laid up 
together a whole batch of them in the basement of 
this church, for eternity, as you lay up potatoes in 
your cellar for winter. Here are the names graven 
overhead in a catalogue on the marble, of men famous 
for giving counsel to the Emperor (who never took 
any) in the senate, and of men who gained a great 
deal of celebrity by having their brains knocked out 
on the fields of Austerlitz and Marengo. When Marat 
was deified by the Convention, he was interred here 
in 1793, and in '94 he was disinterred and undeified, 
and then thrown into his native element, the common 
sewer, in the Rue Montmartre — to purify him. 

I have often sat an hour in a beautiful little temple 
adjoining this, called St. Etienne du Mont. Its archi- 
tecture is original and pretty, and it is rich in statuary 
and paintings. The pulpit is a splendid piece of work- 
manship, supported by a figure of Sampson kneeling 
upon a dead lion; allegorical figures are hovering over, 
and an archangel, with two trumpets, is assembling 
the faithful. The painted glass, too, is brilliant with 

who were refused Christian burial, would one day have assigned to 
their remains the first church of France, and one of the first of Chris- 
tendom, as their Mausoleum. I wonder if Jean Jacques, in his pro- 
phetic vision, foresaw this 1 

2* 



18 A DEVOTIONAL SCENE. 

colors glowing as the rainbow. In a morning walk, 
I have often found an excuse for returning this way. 
A few persons, mostly women, are seen kneeling 
through the church, upon the marble • before the altar, 
silently— you hear but the little whispering prayers 
fluttering towards Heaven — the tranquillity of early 
morning is so favorable to devotion. It feels like giving 
to Heaven the first offerings of one's heart. I have 
often sat here on the fine summer evenings, too, when 
the twilight shed its gray and glimmering rays through 
the windows upon the statues of the venerable saints 
and martyrs, and listened to the voices as they swelled 
in the sacred anthem, and then fell, with the departing 
day, into silence. — It seemed to me the very romance 
of religion. One feels more the influence of such feel- 
ings when wandering alone in a foreign country. In 
visiting a boarding school of this quarter, a few days 
ago, I entered a room where the children were praying 
before retiring to bed ; I observed one with his hands 
clasped, and pouring out his little soul with the fer- 
vency of a saint — an American child, of 8 years, from 
New York — I took him in my arms at the end of his 
prayer, saying : Vous aimez done bien le bon Diea ? 
— u Ah ! oui," he replied, with a most eloquent ex- 
pression, "on ai?ne Men le bon Dieu quand on est 
loin de ses parens" — It is so natural to lay hold of 
Heaven, when cut off from one's home and earthly 
affections. If I had the amiable society of your " Two 
Hills," and the other comforts and consolations of the 
village, I should not be hovering so piously about 
this little church of St. Etienne du Mont. The great 
Pascal, in spite of the Jesuits' noses, is buried here ; 
and an old tower, in the neighborhood, recalls the 
memory of the renowned Abbey of St. Genevieve. I 



ST. MEDARD. 19 

have visited, several times, the library of this institu- 
tion, and paid my respects to its 150 thousand volumes, 
and 30 thousand manuscripts. This, like all the other 
places of Paris where they keep books, is filled con- 
stantly with readers, and like every other institution 
of the kind, is open gratuitously to the public. 

I spoke of Val de Grace in my last letter. A little 
to the east of it, and of not less historical importance, 
is the church of St. Medard ; to which I stretched, 
also, one of my solitary walks, and took a seat amongst 
the worshipers. Faint hymns, chanted at a distance, 
as the still evening comes on, have lured many a 
wandering sinner from the wickedness of the world. 
This is the church so famous for its miracles, called the 
"convulsions/' which once filled the whole city with 
alarm ; and were not discontinued until the archbishop 
had placed a strong military guard around the tomb of 
father Paris. You know the placard put ur> by some 
wag on this occasion : 

" De par le roi, defense a Dieu, 
De faire miracle en ce lieu." 

The young girls used to have fits at this tomb, which 
gave them comical twitchings of the nerves. Some 
would bark all night long at the door of their chambers, 
and others leap about like frogs all day. Sister Rose 
supped the air with a spoon, as your babies do pap, and 
lived on it forty days; and another swallowed a New Tes- 
tament, bound in calf. Some had themselves hung, others 
crucified, and one, called sister Rachel, when nailed to 
a cross, said she was quite happy — qxCellefasait dodo" 
In their holy meetings, they beat, trampled, punctured, 
crucified, and burnt one another, without the least senti- 
ment of pain. All this was done at St. Medard, under 



20 EFFECTS OF SUPERSTITION. 

Louis XV., and attested by ten thousand witnesses. 
Large packages of the earth were exported to work 
miracles in the provinces and foreign countries. One 
of these miracles is told in a song of the Dnchesse de 
Maine : 

" Un decrotteur a la royale, 
Du talon gauche estropie, 
Qbtint, par grace speciale, 

D'etre boiteux de l'autre pied." 

Some of these fanatics were found, forty years after- 
wards, in the dungeons of the Bastille, at its destruction 
in '89.— 

There is one point in religion in which there are no 
heretics out of Scotland — the music. The choir of 
voices, which assisted the organs in this church, seemed 
to be almost divine. One feminine voice, singing occa- 
sionally alone, had all the powers of enchantment; 
swelling, sometimes, into a strain of almost religious 
frenzy, and then melting softly away till there was 
nothing between it and silence; and just in front of 
me, and in full view, sat a handsome woman, wrapped 
entirely in her devotional enjoyment, who seemed 
placed there expressly to give effect to the music ; her 
shoulders, arms and features all moved in exact unison 
with its harmony. I wish you could have seen her 
beautiful countenance as she presented it to the firma- 
ment; her sainted smile which beamed out and waned 
away upon her lips; the devout expression of her eyes, 
how illuminated as the music rose, how languishing in 
its dying notes; how she expired, and then came to life 
again ! I do not hope to see again on the earth, a more 
vivid picture of religious rapture. Devotion, I believe, 
exalts a woman's beauty to its highest perfection ; there 
is no picture so beautiful as the Madonna, and, if I 



HOLY RELICS. 21 

were a woman, I would be religious, if for no other 
motive, just from vanity. No one doubts that the 
human countenance is modified by the feelings cherished 
in the heart, and she who cherishes the mild and bene- 
volent Christian affections, cannot be otherwise than 
very pretty. If there are any ugly women in the 
world, it is because they have not been brought up 
religiously. I sat thinking all this over till night came 
on, and I felt one or two of sister Rose's twitchings. 

I am going to tell you next of the Chapelle de St. 
Nicholas, which you wll find intrenched under the Pa- 
lais de Justice. This is the " Sainte Chapelle" made 
famous by the Lutrin of Boileau. It is the most classical, 
as well as the most holy of the churches of Paris. It was 
built by St. Louis. It was here he stowed away the relics 
he brought from the Holy Land. The "real crown" was 
one of them, which he bought for eighty thousand dollars, 
and which, walking barefooted and bareheaded, and pre- 
ceded by all the prelates and dignitaries of the kingdom,in 
solemn procession, he deposited in this shrine. There 
were, besides, a little of the Virgin's milk, and Moses' rod, 
and a great many other such miracles, which the Emperor 
of Constantinople manufactured, they say, expressly for 
his use. And there was, besides, a great variety of pre- 
sents from popes, cardinals, and other holy men, of less 
equivocal value. A light was burnt here as in the Tem- 
ple of Vista, and a priest walked and watched over them 
at all hours of the night. They are now — what remains 
from the sacrilegious and pilfering fingers of the Revo- 
lution — in the sacristy of Notre Dame ; and their place 
is supplied by old musty records of the Palais de Justice; 
lawyers' declarations, and nasty crim. con. cases — even 
to the receipt of the Marchioness de Brinvilliers for 
making the poison she tried so effectually upon herfather, 



22 NOTRE DAME. 

husband and brother. Boileau is buried in this Chapelle, 
made immortal by his verses. 

For architectural effect, the Madelaine has an unques- 
tionable superiority over all the churches of Paris. It 
has the advantage of a very favorable site ; terminating 
with one flank the view from the Boulevards, and front- 
ing the Rue Royale, and Place Louis XV. It is mounted 
on a basement of eight feet, ascended on its entire peri- 
meter by thirty steps. It is a parallelogram of three 
hundred and twenty-six by one hundred and thirty feet, 
surrounded in double peristyle,. by fifty-two Corinthian 
columns sixty feet high. On the south pediment is repre- 
sented in bas-relief the Day of Judgment; the figures of 
sixteen feet. In the middle is Christ ; and at his feet Made- 
laine, a suppliant. The rest of the group is of angels, and 
allegorical vices and virtues, covering a triangular surface 
of one hundred and eighteen feet in length, and twenty- 
two in height. The interior is a rich and variegated picture. 
The eye is dazzled at the glittering aspect of its gilding and 
fanciful decorations ; its Ionic and Corinthian pillars. On 
each flank are three chapels to be adorned with paintings, 
and at the extremity is the choir in the shape of a demi- 
cylinder, with Ionic pilasters which extend along the two 
aisles. It was begun in the year of our Independence; 
it was the "Temple of Glory" in the Revolution, and 
has got back to its religious destination. It has neither 
dome nor spire, nor any of the usual emblems, except 
the sculpture of a Christian church; so that in the event 
of another Revolution, it may be converted into an Ex- 
change or Bank, or the temple of some Pagan divinity, 
or a Mosque, without much expense of alteration. 

The good lady Notre Dame, is the largest of the Paris- 
ian churches. The adjoining houses squat down in her 
presence and seem to worship her; and she is not only 



INTERIOR OF NOTRE DAME. . 23 

admirable for her beauty and richness, but for her sense. 
She has the history of eight centuries in her nave. She 
has the whole of the Old and New Testament in pictures 
on her walls, or in groups of statuary in her chapels. 
When you sit down under the arched vaults, one hun- 
dred and twenty feet over your head, and amidst these 
massive columns, you see flitting about your imagina- 
tion such personages as Queen Fredegonda; or if you 
please, you can see the pretty Marchioness de Gourville 
confessing, instead of her sins, her tender loves for the 
Archbishop of Paris. You can live back into those 
times when Henry IV. was damned, and Ravaillac, being 
anointed and prayed over in bad Latin, went to Heaven. 
The light is let in upon her dread abodes by one hun- 
dred and thirteen windows, each bordered with a band 
of painted glass. There are three circular ones painted 
in the thirteenth century which are not matched, for the 
delicacy of the stone-work and brilliancy of the colors, 
by anything of modern art. The choir is paved with 
precious marble, and enclosed by a railing of polished 
iron ; in the centre of it, is an eagle in gilt brass seven 
feet high, and three and a half from wing to wing, which 
serves as a reading de%k. Its wainscoting is sculptured 
with scriptural pieces, and a great many sins in the 
shape of toads and lizards are carved upon it. It ter- 
minates near the sanctuary with two archiepiscopal 
chairs of great beauty. The other day in climbing up 
through one of the towers, from which there is a splen- 
did panoramic view of the city, two hundred and four 
feet in the air, I fell in with that famous old bell, Eman- 
uel, whose clapper alone weighs nine hundred and 
seventy-six pounds. Clappers of this kind do not speak on 
ordinary occasions. This one announces in a very hoarse 
and solemn voice, only the approach of some great fes- 



24 THE FASHIONABLE CHURCH. 

tival, or an extraordinary event. On July 27th, five 
years ago, it pealed at midnight, and all night long, the 
awful tocsin of revolt ; and upon these two towers the 
tri-colored flag floated triumphant on the 29th. It was 
to this church that the world used to come in their gala 
dresses to thank Providence for all those victories which 
are carved on the great triumphal column; every time a 
bulletin came in from Italy and Germany announcing the 
event, and when a new prince ascended the throne. 
They came here to thank God for Louis XVIII., then for 
Charles, and then for Louis Philippe. Providence is 
always sure of its thanks in this church, whichever side 
is uppermost. 

In Paris, the meanest hovels are striving which shall 
be nearest the church. Notre Dame is a venerable and 
noble lady, with a brood of filthy and ragged children 
about her. We have the same ungracious image often 
in America. In Philadelphia there is but a step from 
St. Stevens' to the Stews. This is chiefly caused by 
the vicinity of grave yards; a senseless arrangement, 
which has happily grown out of fashion in this country* 
It is deplorable that we should patronize every silly 
practice that Europe is shaking off. 

The fashionable church of all the churches is St. Roch's, 
of which I have spoken in a former letter. To this the 
old lady queen, and the little queenies, and all the pret- 
tiest women of Paris, come to be blessed every Sunday. 
A fine woman is a hymn to the Deity, said some old 
philosopher. If you wish to see a great number of these 
hymns, praising most eloquently the workmanship of 
their divine author, come to St. Roch's about twelve. 
A priest told me there was more merit in saving a pretty 
woman than an ugly one, on account of the enormity 
of her temptations ; an ugly one goes to Heaven of her- 



CATHEDRAL OF ST. DENIS. 25 

self. The skill of the musician makes the only distinc- 
tion between the hallelujahs of St. Roch's and the adios 
of the Italian. 

While on the chapter of churches, I must not forget 
the Cathedral of St. Denis, a few miles out of town, the 
burial place of the French kings. The village, which 
was built up on account of the church, and its monas- 
tery, and the number of pilgrims that resorted there, is 
now as filthy and stupid as suburb villages always are. 
About ten thousand persons are doing penance by living 
there, enough to take them to Heaven without any 
other effort. In 1436 it was taken and rifled by the 
English, who frightened the nuns desperately, and car- 
ried off their most precious things. A bit of the iron 
grate or gridiron on which St. Francis was burnt, and 
the prophet Isaiah's bones, with not a few of the little 
nuns themselves, were amongst the articles stolen. The 
cathedral is Gothic and magnificent. On the first floor 
you will see the tomb of Dagobert, the founder, a splen- 
did Mausoleum of Francis I., in white marble, and op- 
posite, the tomb of Louis XII., surmounted by the naked 
figures of the king and his consort in a recumbent pos- 
ture, and the tomb of Henry de Valois, with the images 
of Henry II. and Queen Catherine de Medicis. In the 
centre of the basement is a vault of octagonal shape 
which contains the ashes of the monarchs all in a lump. 

" Dead but sceptered sovereigns, 



Who rule our spirits in their urns." 

These verses have lost their meaning : but the little urn 
saith " more than a thousand homilies." 

Around the circumference are cenotaphs upon which 
the several kings repose in marble at the side of their 
marble wives. Two unanointed men were admitted 

VOL. II. — 3 



26 DESTRUCTION OF THE CEMETERY. 

amongst them ; Duguesclin and Turenne. Bonaparte 
removed the latter to the Invalids, and Duguesclin 
was lost entirely in the Revolution. The Convention 
issued a decree for the total destruction of this royal 
cemetery in 1793. The first graves examined were 
Henry IV. and Marshall Turenne's. Both these heroes 
were as fresh as the day they were killed, while all those 
who had died in the natural way were, they say, in a 
state of dissolution. The kings were transferred to a 
vulgar grave, with the grass only of the field for a 
monument; the ghosts of the mighty Bourbons were 
turned loose to range upon the commons: the lead too was 
stripped from the Cathedral to shoot the enemies of the 
Republic. The church was repaired by Napoleon, who 
destined it to the burial of" the Emperors." Dis aliter 
visum. Fortune provided him a much more remark- 
able grave. Future ages will, no doubt, go on a pil- 
grimage to St. Helena : here he would have mingled 
with the rabble dust of the French kings. The farther 
reparation of the church was reserved for the piety of 
Louis XVIII. I walked out to St. Denis as the saint 
did once himself, except that he carried his head under 
his arm. Returning home, as I was no saint, I got 
into a coucou at the side of some queer old peasant 
women and heard their conversation. I am sorry the 
dignity of my subject does not allow me to report it to 
you in this letter. 

Many others of these churches seem to me very enter- 
taining, but I must postpone them to another time; with 
only a respectful look upon the great St. Sulpice in front 
of my window, whose huge towers are staring me re- 
proachfully in the face; and I must say a word in part- 
ing with the subject of the Chapelle Expiatoire of the 
Madelaine. This Chapel is placed over the ground in 
which reposed for twenty-two years the bodies of Louis 



CHURCH CEREMONIES. 27 

XVI. and Maria Antoinette. The interior is in form 
of a cross. In the centre is the altar exactly over the 
spot in which the royal bodies were found, and in the 
lateral branches are their statues. The entrance through 
an alley of yew trees, sycamores, and cypresses, gives it 
the air and solemnity of an antique tomb. It is the most 
mournful spot of all Paris. On the Sunday mornings 
mass is said here with great solemnity ; and early every 
day you will see a few persons kneeling in silent wor- 
ship by the altar, or in solitary corners through the 
church. 

The duties of the Catholic churches are administered 
by an Archbishop with an annual salary of 5000 dollars ; 
three Vicars general, 800 dollars, and between two and 
three hundred priests at 300 dollars each. The grand 
Rabbin has 1200 ; the little Rabbins from one to four 
hundred, and a Protestant clergyman has from two to 
six hundred dollars. So you see the French patronize 
all sorts of religion, and Moses and St. Peter come in 
alike for their share of the church funds. But what a 
change of circumstances ! The church revenue of 
France was, before the Revolution, 21 millions of dol- 
lars ; at present it is six millions. The clergy of old 
France exceeded four hundred thousand; of "young 
France," they are rated at thirty thousand ! 

In the service of a French Catholic church, there are 
officers in military costume ; there are processions and 
pageantry, and loud and impassioned music. Every- 
thing is prepared for vehement impressions, for theatric 
effect. I should like a religion intermediate between 
this Catholic vivacity and our Presbyterian dullness. 
Whoever believes that any association of men can be 
held together without forms and ceremonies has much 
yet to learn of the nature of his species, and whoever 



28 BIGOTRY OF FORMER TIMES. 

would dispense with even the forms which are ridiculous 
in society would be himself the most ridiculous man in 
it. Still some regard is to be had in this to the popular 
sentiment and spirit of the age. There is certainly much 
absurd and trumpery ceremony, designed formerly for a 
mass of ignorant people, kept up in this church, when 
the general sense of the world and the infidel propensi- 
ties of the French have got far ahead of it. That Louis 
XVIII. should go all the way to Rheims and be greased 
with some drops saved from the Jacobins, of that same 
oil or "holy cream" brought by a dove from heaven to 
anoint king Pepin, was presuming too far upon the stu- 
pidity of the times. Surely the age of such nonsense 
and bigotry has gone by. The elevating the host and 
processions through the church, are neither solemn nor 
dignified, and what position has so little dignity as that 
of the priest kneeling at the altar, with a little boy hold- 
ing up the tail of his surplice in the face of the congre- 
gation ? In these times of popular education, everybody 
reads and reasons, and general learning, by cheap publi- 
cations, is brought within each one's reach. The com- 
mon man, who is fed with his two penny knowledge, is 
almost as learned upon common affairs, as the gentle- 
man who feasts upon his guinea a volume ; so that a 
ceremony that was very solemn in the last age, may be 
very notable for its absurdity in this. Not half a cen- 
tury ago a doctor of medicine did not visit a patient in 
this city unless his head was first wrapped in a huge 
wig — perraque h trois marteaux ; and if he forgot 
his cane with the golden head he turned back for it 
though his patient in the mean time should die. A ring 
too, with a diamond on his finger, and laced ruffles, 
were indispensable to his practice. In condemning this 
Catholic flummery, I do not go into the opposite Pres- 



CELIBACY OF THE CLERGY. 29 

byterian extreme, and proscribe what is rational and 
sensible, the music, the paintings and statuary. There 
is no more occasion in these times to take measures 
against idolatry than against witchcraft ; and why 
deprive our churches of what gratifies the* senses 
innocently, excites devotional feelings, and improves the 
taste and understanding? 

But to keep a religion now in favor with the world, 
requires unexceptionable virtue on the part of those 
who administer its duties; and the celibacy of the 
priesthood seems to me directly adverse to such a 
requirement. It is not likely that human nature will 
be controlled in one of her strongest impulses with 
impunity. When I see these rosy and smart looking 
priests, who haunt the churches, and reflect upon the 
propensity of women for holy men, I cannot help 
wishing, for the sake of the Catholic religion, they were 
married. I would not go bail for any one of them 
under the merit of St. Anthony. The intrigues and 
libertinism of the French and Italian clergy are matters 
of authentic history. There was a time when a cardi- 
nal's hat depended on the patronage of the candidate's 
mistresses. The Cardinals de Retz, Richelieu, and 
Mazarin and Dubois were the notorious roues of the 
day. I see here everywhere a set of jovial looking 
monks, with their caps over the right eye, who would 
drink your health in the sacristy. Besides, when the 
cares of men are limited to themselves they lose some 
of the best qualities of the human heart; they become 
selfish. I never knew an old maid, a bachelor, or even 
a married woman without children, who was not an 
insupportable egoiste, unless the affections nourished by 
matrimony were supplied from other sources; and the 
concern men have for their children brings out their 

3* 



30 AMERICAN CHURCHES. 

religious as well as their social qualities into continual 
exercise. Not only the strongest defence against im- 
morality, but the foundation of every public virtue is 
laid in the domestic affections. The Athenians would 
not alloV any one to vote who had not a child ; if I 
were pope I would not permit any one to preach who 
had not a wife, and I would take one myself to set them 
the good example. 

I am not sorry the interior arrangement of our American 
churches, both Catholic and Protestant, are so opposed to 
architectural beauty. The pew has an air of habitation ; 
it has the comfort, it has the sacredness of home. 
Families accustomed to see each other, the year round, 
grow into acquaintance ; and even without the inter- 
course of words, experience the joy of a friendly meeting. 
The humble man, also, has the satisfaction, one day in 
seven, of seeing himself in company with those of better 
fortunes, on something like terms of equality. When 
one gets the apostles and all the saints on one's side, one 
rises almost to the dignity of anybody. A great man, 
too, can, in a church, associate a little with his inferiors 
without compromising his importance : all which is lost 
in this random and desultory way of sitting about upon 
chairs, as in the French churches. 

A great evil of our American churches is, their great 
respectability, or exclusiveness. Here, being of aJarge 
size, and paid by government, the church is open to all 
citizens, with an equal right and equal chance of accom- 
modation. In ours, the dearness of pew-rent, especially 
in the Episcopal and Presbyterian, turns poverty out of 
doors. Poor people have a sense of shame ; and I know 
many a one who, because he cannot go to Heaven 
decently, will not go at all. This is an evil we must 
bear, to avoid the greater one of a church establish- 



RELIGIOUS OPINIONS. 31 

ment. We suffer disadvantages, also, from want of 
religious uniformity. A thin settled community, which 
is just able to support one clergyman, starves three or 
four, or dispenses altogether with their services. A 
first rate Methodist would rather not " see the Lord" at 
all, than take part in the church litany ; and what good 
Presbyterian would not rather be damned ten times 
over, than be seen at a mass ? In a diversity of sects, 
also, we are given to dogmatize too much, and define 
articles of faith, to follow the letter rather than the spirit 
of religion. The French catholic believes (if he be- 
lieves anything) in the power of absolution, in the real 
presence and the infallibility of the pope, without an 
inquiry into the absurdity of such belief; we dogmatize 
and doubt and reason ourselves into infidelity ; and, 
though we can see no essential difference in the prayers 
and sermons of our different clergymen, we cling to our 
own, as indispensable to our salvation. Our clergy too, 
of the same denomination, are often falling into schisms, 
in which they too often show jealousy, malice, and 
other bad passions, which brings religion itself into 
disrepute. Are these things worse than the abuses and 
corruptions of undivided church establishments ? 

The manner of keeping Sunday is a subject of 
general censure amongst our American visitors at 
Paris. There is no visible difference between this 
day and the others, except that the gardens and public 
walks, the churches in the morning, and the ball-rooms 
and theatres in the evening, are more than usually 
crowded. In London, the bells toll the Sunday most 
solemnly ; the theatres and dancing rooms are silent, 
and all the shops (but the gin shop) shut ; yet the poor 
get drunk, and the equipages of the gentry parade their 
magnificence on Hyde Park, of a Sunday evening. 



32 OBSERVANCE OF SUNDAY. 

"How do you spend your Sundays," said a French- 
man, condoling with another, "in America?" He 
replied; " Monsieur, je prends medeci?ie." A French- 
man has a tormenting load of animal spirits that cannot 
live without employment ; he has no idea of happiness 
in a calm, and it is not likely that he will remain 
" endimanche' chez-lui" during the twelve hours of the 
day, or that his Sunday evenings would be better em- 
ployed than in the theatre and ball-room. This is my 
opinion ; but I have great doubts whether a man ought 
to have an opinion of his own, when it does not corre- 
spond with that of others, who are notoriously wiser 
than himself. I cannot easily persuade myself, that na- 
ture has intended the whole of this life to be given up 
to a preparation for the next, else had she not given us 
all these means of enjoyment, all these " delicacies of 
taste, sight, smell, herbs, fruits and flowers, walks and 
the melody of birds." — This is enough about French 
churches. 



PERE LA CHESE. 33 



LETTER XIII. 

Pere la Chese — Funeral of Bellini — Grave merchants — Description 
of the cemetery — Graves of the rich and the poor — The Fete des 
Morts — Tomb of Abelard and Heloise — Remarkable personages 
buried there — The aristocracy of the grave — Monument of Foy 
— Inscription — Graveyards in cities and towns — French regula- 
tions for the inhumation of the dead. 

Paris, October 29th, 1835. 

I took advantage of a beautiful day, which peeped 
out yesterday, to pay my respects to Pere la Chese, 
and I am going to give you some account of this 
celebrated city of the dead. But what can I say? I 
feel scarce wit enough to talk about the weather, and 
I am going to tell you of that which all the world has 
described so beautifully. I know not the reason, but 
I have even less sense and imagination than usual, 
since I am in Paris. If it were not for Madame de 
Sevigne, and a few other such characters, I would 
lay the blame upon the heavy, unthinking and hazy 
influences of these northern climates. I followed the 
funeral of Bellini, the composer, author of Pirata, 
Puritani, and other first rate operas. Is it not a pity 
to die with so much talent at twenty-nine, when so 
many fools live out their four score ? I do not recol- 
lect anything that old Methusaleh said or did, with 
his nine hundred years ; and he could not have made 
such an opera as Puritani, if he had lived as many 
more. He was accompanied (Bellini, I mean) by the 
music of all Paris ; and the music of the spheres must 
have played, this day, a sweeter harmony. The mass 



34 FUNERAL OF BELLINI. 

of Cherubini, so appropriate to the occasion, and so 
much better than the archbishop's prayers, was for- 
bidden by the archbishop, because it had feminine 
voices in it ; and his worship would not have the 
Chapel of the Invalids, all hung over so beautifully 
with bloody flags, profaned by musical women ; not 
even by the exquisite Grisi. So we had the 119th 
Psalm. Don't you think the spirit of the composer 
must have winced ? But the march, with full band, 
along the Boulevards for several miles, and the end 
of the ceremony at Pere la Chese, were imposing. 
Speeches were pronounced in Italian and French by 
good orators; and, among the listeners, some of us 
were queens and princesses. The breeze whispered 
through the pines, and a thunder-storm, as if express- 
ly, came over the sun, and played bass in the clouds, 
and the clouds themselves wept as the grave closed 
upon Bellini. — I went to the Invalids, with a pretty 
English woman, one of his scholars, who wailed his 
loss inconsolably, and who, for certain, was in love 
with him. Women, you know, always fall in love 
with their music masters; Mary Queen of Scots, and 
the pretty Mrs. Thrale into the bargain. 

This cemetery of Pere la Chese, thirty years ago, 
had fourteen tombs ; it counts, in the present year, fifty 
thousand. Hundreds of architects, and sculptors, and 
statuaries, besides multitudes of laborers, find here a 
new source of occupation, and improvement in the 
arts; so that a goodly part of the present generation 
gets its living by the death of its predecessors. Here 
is a whole street of marble yards, which manufactures 
tombs for domestic and foreign commerce, near a mile 
long ; and mighty heaps of bronze, granite and marble 
exquisitely chiseled, recommending themselves to the 



MERCHANDISE OF THE GRAVE. 35 

notice of the public. Tombstones, urns, bronze gates, 
iron railings, crosses, pillars, pyramids, statues, and 
all the furniture of the grave, are laid out, and ex- 
hibited here, as the merchandise of the shops and 
bazaars, of the latest and newest .fashions — "Grand 
magazin a la General Foy — a, VAbelard et Heloise, 
<^c," as in the city, " Grand magazin du Doge de 
Venise ;" and by trying to under-bury one another, 
they have reduced funeral expenses in every branch 
to their minimum— there is, perhaps, no place in the 
world where one can die, and be buried so moderately, 
as in Paris. Here is one selling out at first cost, to 
close a concern ; and another's whole stock of tombs 
is brought to the hammer, by the death of the pro- 
prietor. These grave-merchants used to follow the 
funeral processions in swarms to the verge of the 
tomb, offering to the mourners bills and advertisements, 
and specimens of their industry; but this emulation has 
been lately forbidden, by an order of police. These 
people have got, by professional habit, to think, like 
the philosophers, that the principal business of man upon 
this earth, is to die. The staple of conversation is, the 
grave ; and there is as much pedantry here about the 
dead people, as in the Latin Quarter there is about the 
dead languages. — "When do you think you can pay 
me that bill of marble, Mr. Grigou ?" — " Ah, sir ! busi- 
ness is very slack just now ; and the season, you see, is 
almost over. Mr. Barbeau, I have been twenty years 
in the trade, and never saw such times. It really seems 
as if people had left off dying. But if business be- 
comes brisk, as we expect, towards Christmas, I will 
pay you off then ; if not, you will have to wait till next 

August. When the cholera was here Helas ! 

I fear we shall never see such times again." — "Eh bien, 



36 GATE OF THE CEMETERY. 

patience, Mr. Grigou, we must hope for the best."— 
They have here, too, a kind of Exchange, where they 
meet to see the state of the market — to see the newest 
fashions or inventions of urns and crosses, and other 
sepulchral images, and to read over the bills of mortality, 
as elsewhere one reads the price current. The joy of a 
death is, of course, proportional to the worth, fashion 
and distinction of the individual who has died. When 
General Mortier was killed, on the 2Sth. stock rose one 
and a quarter. — "Well! what is there to-day?"— 
"Nothing! and getting worse and worse! —but what 
can one expect else under such a detestable govern- 
ment ? You remember how it was under the restora- 
tion. Then we had such persons as Marshal Suchet, 
and Madame Demidoff to bury ; now we bury nothing 
but the canaille. Even under Charles, we had some 
few nobles left, who could pay for a snug Mausoleum ; 
but what is a French nobleman now?— a poor half-cut 
gentleman, with a ribbon in his buttonhole, which he 
calls a decoration, and without money to pay the grave- 
digger or the sexton. ■ — Ah ! Mr. Grigou, things 

must have a change !" 

The gate of the cemetery, which terminates the view 
at the end of this street, is surrounded by statuary, and 
is magnificent, like that of some great prince. It is al- 
ways besieged by equipages, and vehicles of every kind, 
of the visitors who are coming and going at all hours- 
all except one. — His equipage goes home empty !— 
Around this entrance is a great crowd of women, all 
over smiles, who offer you wreaths, chaplets, and crosses 
of orange blossom, amaranth, and other evergreen, very 
prettily interwoven, and they get a living by this little 
trade. As you ascend the hill, you see groups of visit- 
ors, noisy and talkative, who, on entering, are suddenly 



VISIT TO THE TOMBS. 37 

silent, struck with the awfulness of the place. A kind 
of death-chill runs through the blood. But after a closer 
view the mind becomes serene, and even roams with a 
delightful curiosity amongst the tombs. Nearly all the 
ground is covered with small pines, and with fern, wood- 
bines, and jessamines twisted into tufted thickets. There 
is quite a deficiency of cypress, and willow, and hem- 
lock ; the vegetation is generally stinted in its growth, 
and looks forlorn enough indeed. Monuments of bright- 
est marble and exquisite sculpture dazzle the eye on all 
sides ; and there are smooth and gravelled walks, ter- 
races, and flowery banks, paths winding along the hill- 
side, and little scenery of every variety ; and nature has 
borrowed so many ornaments from art, and wears them 
with so lively a grace, that one is disposed rather to ad- 
miration than to melancholy musings ; one would think 
that Hymen and Cupid and not Death walked through 
her hills and valleys. 

This city, like living cities, has its fashionable and 
rabble districts ; its Broadways and Chestnut Streets, its 
Southwark and Northern Liberties. On the summits 
and flanks of all the hills, or apart and half hidden in 
groves of pines, are Mausoleums rich with ^Egyptian, 
Grecian, and modern luxury. It seems as if the dead, 
the business of life being done, had retired here to their 
magnificent villas. Only think of your scraggy grave- 
yards of Philadelphia— enough to disgust one with 
dying. Distinguished and learned dust is collected here 
from all nations, and virtues are puffed and advertised in 
all human languages. Whatever one may think of the 
French people alive, one cannot hope to meet anywhere 
a better set of dead people. Here are nothing but 
faithful husbands and incorruptible wives, and you 

VOL. II. — 4 



38 GRAVES OF THE POOR. 

would think it had rained patriots. As for great generals 
they seem to come up in the parsley bed as they did in 
Ovid's Metamorphoses. Surely Pere la Chaise still 
exercises his office of absolution on these grounds. 

At the foot of the hill are immense multitudes of dead 
in a level and open field, assorted in rows, as the vege- 
tables in the Garden of Plants. These are the working 
people of the other world. They have no shelter of 
marble, or of shrubbery, or of cypress ; no weeping 
willow hangs its branches upon the little hill of earth, 
but a small black board, shaped into a cross, and stand- 
ing up prim at the head of each one, reveals his humble 
name and merits. You see the hearse arrive here with 
a few attendants on foot. A priest in an old rusty 
gown, a boy in a frock no longer white, and an officer 
under a cocked hat, attend. These form a little proces- 
sion from the hearse : the priest mutters an epitome of 
the service, and sprinkles the holy water upon the grave; 
he, the gravedigger and the driver betraying not the 
slightest emotion in the performance of these duties ; and 
the whole escort disappears suddenly and silently. Be- 
yond this is a field of a still humbler lot, where anything 
is buried; this they call the Fosses commims. They 
who have no money, consequently no friends, are buried 
here. It is a yawning excavation, into, which one cannot 
look without horror. The corpse is carried down a long 
stairway and placed without distinction of age or sex 
in a row along side the corpse which preceded it, and 
the name of the individual is no more heard upon the 
earth. He was perhaps a suicide, or a victim of some 
accident or murder, a stranger without a friend, or a 
laborer without a home. No priest attends here. One 
other piece of earth, retired from the rest, has a special 



FUNERAL CEREMONIES. 39 

designation. It is the only religious distinction of the 
cemetery ; the burial place of the Jews. 

" Beneath her palm, here sad Judea weeps." 

The graves of the rich are mostly held in perpetuity ; 
those of the poor are disposable anew at the end of every 
six years ; the first lessee having always the right of pre- 
emption. There is a chapel on the highest spot of the 
cemetery, and from its threshold the priest has a naked 
view of all Paris. He has spread out before him his 
whole stock in trade, and sees his customers winding up 
the hill ; of which every day furnishes him its contin- 
gent. If for the district of the poor, he performs the 
service, as I have described, by his deputies. But when 
you see the portals of the marble palace open between 
the Corinthian columns, and winged angels, chiselled 
from the marble of Genoa, and the priest kneeling in 
deep devotion before the altar, all of gold, you will see 
at the same time the whole street leading up to the Bar- 
riere d'Aulney filled with an immense cortege of gor- 
geous equipages, all of crape ; and you will see in the 
first carriages persons in deep distress, mopping their 
eyes, all swollen with grief. Keep in your tears ; they 
are not the least vexed. On the contrary, they cry with 
a great deal of pleasure. They are crying by the month, 
and getting their living by it. This custom of crying by 
deputy was practised by the Romans, and is common to 
all the refined nations of modern Europe; and it is 
known that hired weepers can wail and cry a great deal 
better than they who are really grieved ; they have a 
greater quantity of salt water, and have given it the 
habit of running out by the eyes. The coffin descends 
from the hearse, glittering with the precious metals, and 
whilst music wakes around, or speeches are pronounced 



40 FETE DES MORTS. 

in eloquent grief, or masses chanted in classic Latin, it 
is conveyed with pomp into its vault, and laid up for 
eternity upon its shelf. There is a person here, who 
keeps a register of the names of the deceased, and is a 
kind of chief clerk to the Fates. 

There is one day in the year when all Paris comes 
hither dressed in white robes, ten thousand at a time, 
to do honor to the dead. It looks as if the sheeted dead 
themselves had risen from the earth. This is called the 
Fete des Marts. Each one brings a garland or crown, 
and hangs it over a friend or relative ; and the whole 
city bends before the graves of General Foy, Manuel, 
and Benjamin Constant. Indeed every day of the year 
that the weather will permit, the cemetery is crowded, 
either with strangers led by curiosity, or with friends 
busied in trimming the foliage or flowers, or hanging 
funeral wreaths upon the monuments. This may be 
partly vanity, but vanity is a very good quality, if rightly 
directed, and a great many excellent virtues may be 
grafted on it. As for me I have always found it exceed- 
ingly difficult to practise several of the virtues when no 
one was looking on. 

I observed, on entering, a Gothic monument, and under 
its dome, two figures of persons recumbent at the side 
of each other, who were not always of marble. I will 
not tell you their names. If they had gone quietly with 
their marriage articles to St. Sulpice and to bed, and 
distributed next day the wedding cake to their cousins 
of St. Germain, I should not now have the pleasure of 
musing upon this little Gothic chapel ; we should have 
been deprived of one of the best love tales that ever 
was, and some of the best verses in our English lan- 
guage, and the Nouvelle Heloise into the bargain. Un- 
successful wooing, you see, has its uses. What would 



TOMB OF ABELARD AND HELOISE. 41 

you gentle shepherdesses have done without Petrarch's 
sonnets, without Virgil's fourth book, and Sappho's lit- 
tle ditty, Englished by Philips ? The Republic brought 
this pair of lovers from Chalons to Paris, where they 
have been knocked about till they have become as com- 
mon as any pair of students and grisettes of the Luxem- 
bourg, (the barbarians!) instead of embowering them 
in the shady wood at a distance from the road, by the 
side of a murmuring and romantic stream, where the 
traveler might alight from his horse, just at setting sun, 
and give his undisturbed and undivided feelings to their 
hapless fates. Here they are, the unfortunates, along 
side of anybody, who has died in lawful wedlock, and 
their history, as if no one knew it, written upon their 
tomb, in fine round text, with their names. The chil- 
dren are taught to spell on it: a, b, ab; e by itself, e, 1, 
a, r, d, lard. — I am now writing from the spot, perhaps 
the very spot in which their hearts beat so high in love, 
and sunk so deep in despair— in the very spot, for all I 
know in the very chamber — where she " hung upon his 
lips, and drank delicious poison from his eye !" — where 
now, alas! no loves are disappointed, and where there is 
no drinking of anything stronger or sweeter than a little 
vin ordinaire after one's potage. 

On leaving this fairy spot I wandered along a hun- 
dred little foot-paths, and read over a thousand crabbed 
names, which carried no signification to the mind, of a 
thousand polite nothings, who had put on their breeches 
in the morning, and taken them off at night, and who 
have monuments in Pere la Chaise for such merits — A 
Monsieur Doda, who made excellent^M? de foils gr as; 
besides he made the Potage Vero-Doda, and he has a 
Mausoleum of a prince, splendid with festoons, I believe 
of sausages, on the pediment ; and a Monsieur Sebas- 

4* 



42 COSTLY MONUMENTS; 

tian, who made shoes for the Duchesse de Bern's dear 
little feet, has one still more magnificent. This is the 
man who made the slipper "dans un moment d'enthu- 
siasme;" and lastly a coiffeur — inexorable fate ! 

" Sensible et genereux, dont le cceur gofita l'ivresse 
Du bonheur, du genie." . . . and so forth. 

And here lies one, I had like to have forgotten — an 
artist, who had great invention, but a bad memory. 

" Ci git qui des l'age le plus tendre 
Inventa la sauce Robert j 
Mais jamais il ne put apprendre 
Ni sou credo, ni sou pater" 

An obelisk of Carrara marble, forty feet high, was about 
to rise upon the tomb of M. Boulard, Upholsterer ; " Un 
tapissier, qui tapissait." He had journeyed himself to 
Genoa, and chosen the marble, and a foundation trench 
forty feet deep had been dug, and 400,000 francs devoted 
to the monument; but his heirs have thought proper to 
depart from the intentions of the testator, and have buried 
him in a chapel at St. Mande which he had built him- 
self at the cost of a million of francs. The site of his 
grave here is occupied by the pyramidal monument, 
with two lateral staircases of fifteen or twenty steps de- 
scending to its base, of a rich Portuguese family, Dios 
Santos. A Frenchman, who enjoys life so welt, is, of 
all creatures, the least concerned at leaving it. He se- 
lects his marble of the finest tints; and has often his 
coffin made ancTgrave dug in advance. I noticed several 
open graves, which seemed to me yawning for their 
victims. They dig a good many ahead, so as to have 
them on hand, like ready made coats (without the sleeves) 
at the mercer's. If a Frenchman buries his wife, he 
erects her a tomb and one (blanc) for himself, at the side 



REMARKABLE PERSONAGES. — LANJU1NAIS, 43 

of her. Then frolics out life in wine and good dinners, 
and has his tomb at Pere la Chese as his box at the 
opera. He buries his wife too the more splendidly, 
having a half interest in the concern. 

I found myself at length upon a street crowded with 
most remarkable personages ; but so many that I must 
put you off as Homer did with his ships. Here was 
Francois Neufchatel, a minister of the Interieur, and 
author in prose and rhyme, who sung lour a tour Marie 
Antoinette and the Republique, who loved Napoleon 
and the Empire and rejoiced at the Restoration. In his 
vicinity was Regnaud St. Jean d'Angely, who used to 
put off his brass for gold, his words for wisdom, and 
sometimes, in America, his traveling mistress for his 
wife, 

" Le raeme jour a vu finir 
Ses maux, son exile, et sa vie!" 

And here too was the stern and philanthropic Lan- 
juinais, who conjured up a devil he could not lay, in 
the Revolution; and the great jurist Cambaceres — 
under Louis XVI. a squire of Montpellier, under the 
Convention, Citizen Cambaceres; Colleague of Bona- 
parte in the consulate, and President, Duke, Prince, 
and Marshal of the Empire under Napoleon. The 
sword sometimes yields to the gown, and the laurel to 
the tongue. He died with all the decorations of Europe 
about his neck. I would have graven the Code Napo- 
leon upon his tomb. Remember to give him credit for 
dissuading the execution of the Duke d'Enghein, the 
Russian and Spanish campaigns, and the continuation 
of the war after Dresden. But he never put his honors 
to the hazard of dissuading anything very strenuously ; 
like Piso, the Roman, he never differed long in opinion 
with a "man who had ten legions."— Do let me intro- 



44 DISTINGUISHED MEN. 

duce you to Monsieur Denon ; he loved the ladies so ? 
and what is more the ladies loved him. He first taught 
us to read hieroglyphics, and brought us news out of 
iEgypt about Pharaoh and the Ptolemies, and he 
brought over that great " Zodiac of Dendera" in the 
king's library ; and to M. Messier, who did not know 
there was a Revolution in France, being very busy 
about the revolution of the stars. While his wife was 
dying he asked a few minutes absence to look after a 
comet. He died himself in looking through a telescope, 
and his friends had but one eye to close on that occasion. 
Not a word to Chenier, the Jacobin poet ; the world 
has not yet made up its mind about his merits; nor to 
Parny, whose poetry is good enough to deserve your 
contempt, pure and unqualified. A lyre hangs upon 
the tomb of Gretry, and a globe in flames upon Ma- 
dame Blanchard. If I had time, I would inveigh here 
against the audacity of woman. She kills tyrants, com- 
mits suicide, and goes up in balloons. She leaves us 
nothing, unless going to war, and scarcely that, to 
characterise our manhood. A Roman Emperor was 
obliged to forbid her by an edict the profession of the 
gladiators. — I must not pass unnoticed M. Pinee, who 
passed his life, and with some success, in teaching 
crazy folks to be reasonable — those in the mad-house. 
And those two brothers, not less worthy than the best, 
they who gave eyes to the blind and ears to the dumb, 
Haily and Sicard ; — they must not be forgotten; and 
here is a poor poet (excuse the tautology) who is 
buried as decently as if he had made sausages. — I will 
conclude this part of my catalogue, already as long as 
Lloyd's or Homer's, with a Scotch consin of mine, Mr. 
Justice. He left his wife, young, amiable, and beauti- 
ful as she was, in Edinburgh, for the pleasures of Paris ; 



REFLECTIONS ON MORTALITY. 45 

which pleasures brought him in time to the prison of St. 
Pelagie, His wife (I will inquire after her health when 
I go to Scotland) flew to his rescue. She could not pro- 
cure his enlargement, on account of the greatness of his 
debts, but she stayed with him in the prison, attended 
him in his illness, and consoled him, and reformed him 
in his dying moments. She has placed here a modest 
tomb upon his grave. — If you hear any one speak ill of 
a woman, have him taken out and given fifty lashes on 
my account. I will settle all the cost and damages at 
the Common Pleas. 

We are now upon the summit. This site is unrivall- 
ed in beauty. Montroye, Sevres, Meudon, Mount Cal- 
vary, and St. Cloud, are spread before us in the distant 
prospect. The eye rests upon the green fields and 
flowery pastures of Montreuil, and forests of Vincennes ; 
and at our feet is that great miracle of the world, 
Paris; its gilded towers, domes and palaces glittering 
in the sun ; and the frequent hearse is bringing up its 
daily contribution of the inhabitants. It is near the 
close of a fine day of autumn. The yellow leaf, de- 
tached from its branch, comes lingering and flutters to- 
wards the earth, and is trodden upon by the passers by ; 
others on the same branch are yet green, or tinged with 
the blight of the first frosts. — That Xerxes, in contem- 
plating his multitudinous legions, should weep over the 
prospect of their mortality, he being on the very errand 
of killing men, seems to me a notable absurdity; but 
that I, who leave them to die just as they please, should 
weep a little, in a place so favorable to such emotions, 
would be reasonable enough. While I stood here, 
yesterday, and looking down upon this hive of human 
beings; listened to the hum of its many voices, and 
saw the silent earth open to receive all this life and an- 



46 ARISTOCRACY OF THE GRAVE. 

animation : when I looked upon the many graves of my 
own countrymen here, and reflected that to-morrow — 
to-morrow, far from my friends and native country, I 
might become one of the number ! Why, I would 
have wept outright, if my manhood had not interfered. 
After all, such feelings were perhaps more remarkable 
in Xerxes ; and Herodotus was right to give him, 
and not me, credit with posterity. Common passions in 
common men are not subjects of history; but that the 
"king of kings," who challenged mountains, and fet- 
tered oceans, and led myriads to slaughter, should yet 
have his lucid intervals of humanity — this is a matter 
worthy of record. 

This is the choice spot of the cemetery. It is the 
spot distinguished for the best society. It is covered 
with the richest array of tombs, and all the arts of 
statuary, sculpture and architecture have employed their 
best skill upon its embellishment. It is the aristocracy 
of the grave. Here are the Peeresses, the Princesses, 
and High Mightinesses. The rich house of Ormesson, 
Montausin and Montmorency, and "all the blood of all 
the Howards,' 5 are upon this Hill. " lei repose tres 
haute, et tres puisssante dame, Emma Coglan,Duch- 
esse de Castries ;" and here is the proud Mausoleum of 
Russian Kate's superb noblewoman, Madame Demi- 
doff; which, although in bad taste, deserves, Tor its 
richness, whole days of admiration to itself. Not one 
of the cleverest of the Parisians is a match for this fur- 
clad damsel of the Neva. Here, too, is Joseph the 
money changer, and other men of arithmetic ; the Bar- 
ings and the Rothschilds of Pere la Chaise, with 
winged goddesses perched upon their tombs where 
ought to be Multiplication Tables. Aiid finally minis- 
ters and great Marshals of France, all who have not 



MONUMENT OF FOY. 47 

been ashamed to come to the term of life according to 
the due course of mortality, are buried here. Here, 
with images of their living features, upon pyramids that 
pierce the skies — 

"Heroes in animated marble frown, 
And legislators seem to think in stone." 

I thought of Washington by the wayside. I thought 
of Franklin at the corner of Arch and Fifth — in the 
midst of a city so improved and adorned by his genius, 
so honored by his virtues, with no sculpture but the 
letters of his name, no Mausoleum but the gravedig- 
ger's cell ! 

The monument of Foy is reared by the gratitude of 
the city of Paris, with almost barbaric magnificence; 
" kings for such a tomb would wish to die." They have 
sculptured upon its fagade the principal military events 
of his life. His statue has a majestic and noble air, 
such as becomes the great Deputy, whose eloquence was 
lightning, and whose tongue was armed with thunder. 
The countenance is solemn, and the arm outstretched as 
if to announce some awful admonition. Other great 
men, also, have monuments here, pre-eminent in splen- 
dor. Keller man, whose name recalls the Republican 
victories of Valmy and Jemappes ; Suchet, the oldest of 
the Marshals ; his ornaments are Rivoli, Zurich, Genoa, 
Essling. Two winged Victories hold a crown over the 
head of Lefebvre, and a serpent, the symbol of immorta- 
lity, twines around his sword ; his trophies are Montmi- 
rail, Dantzig, the Passage of the Rhine ; and next Jour- 
dan, Serurier, JDavousi, and, choicer than all, the great 
Duke of Tarento, the Prince of Eckmuhl, the rapacious 
Massena. How silent ! not a footstep is heard of all 
those who rushed to the battle. These military men 



48 MONUMENTS OF GREAT MEN. 

outdo by far, in the splendor of their monuments, all the 
other classes. — Ceres and Bacchus, on account of the 
pure, universal, and durable benefits they had conferred 
upon mankind, were raised to the rank of supreme di- 
vinities, says Plutarch, but Hercules and Theseus, and 
the other heroes were placed only in the rank of demi- 
gods, because their services were transitory, and inter- 
mixed with the evils of war. The French have reversed 
this wisdom of the Greeks, in Pere la Chaise. But, in- 
deed, if they would snatch a little of their fame from the 
oblivious grave, there is scarce any other way left; they 
have so spoilt the trade of glory by competition. Why, 
Bonaparte used to send, of these heroes, whole bulle- 
tins to Paris weekly ; and in Great Britain there are no 
longer alehouses and signposts to hang them upon ; 
Smiths, Achmouties, Abercrombies, and Wellingtons ; — 
memory has a surfeit of their names. Human venera- 
tion is not infinite, and it is expanded till, like the circle 
upon the stream, it terminates in naught. They who 
lived before Agamemnon will soon have as good a 
chance as their successors ; Werter will be as good a 
hero as Cato, and the Red Rover as Lord Nelson. In 
the early ages, when events were rare, and men had 
scarce anything to do but live their nine hundred years, 
heroes had some chance to be preserved. They could 
transmit even their mummied bodies to posterity; but 
with us, loaded as we are with all this biography, all 
this history, besides what science and letters are daily im- 
posing upon us — with us, who come here to Pere la Chaise 
at threescore, to expect such advantage is unreasonable. 
The truth is, we cannot get along under the accumulated 
load, and we must sacrifice a part for the safety of the 
rest of the crew. We must heave a few Massenas and 
Lord Wellingtons overboard. Ought I not to say a word 



TOMB OF NEY. 49 

in this paragragh of the unfortunate Ney ? He is bu- 
ried here, like his fellow martyr, Labedoyere, at the feet 
of the Suchets. A single cypress is all that grows over 
the " bravest of the brave !" Read : " Ci git le Mari- 
chal Ney, Due d' Etching en, Prince de la Moscowa: 
Decede! * * * /e 7 Decembre, ISIS." I humbly take 
my leave of the Rivolis, and the Wagrams. 

Here is a most beautiful tomb of a lady surmounted 
by an image of Silence, her finger on her lip. Does 
it intimate the lady could keep a secret ? Oh, no, it ad- 
monishes other ladies to hold their tongues. This one 
is all French. " Ici repose Georgiana,fille de Made- 
moiselle Mars" She adds, " Gardez vos larrnes 
pour sa m&re." Whoever loves Thalia and the Graces 
will not disobey the admonition. And now let me in- 
troduce you to Bouffleur, the flenr des chevaliers ; to 
Delile, who went down to posterity behind Virgil and 
Milton ; and to Bernardin de St. Pierre, whom one 
forgets,- to remember only Paul and the delicious Vir- 
ginia. Here, too, is Laplace, allotted his six feet like the 
rest. Eheu ! Quid prodest ? and Fourcroy, undergoing 
one of his own experiments. In the centre of all this is 
Moliere himself. They should have left room beside him 
for Miss Mars, his best commentary — if, in spite of time, 
she should chance ever to die. Here, too, is Talma, and 
Mademoiselle Raucourt, immortal for feigning others' 
passions, and La Fontaine, for telling other people's 
tales. He has no occasion to think anything new, who 
can dress others' thoughts to such advantage. I observed 
also a few learned ladies, Madame Guizot, Dufrenoy, 
and above all Madame Cottin. Are you not sorry she 
died at twenty-eight, when so many fools never die 
at all ? It is plain Providence does not trouble itself 
about what we call human greatness ; or genius would 

VOL. II.— 5 



50 GRAVES OF THE POOR. 

not perish thus in its infancy, and so many glorious 
and manly enterprises would not die in the hatching. 
Virgil would have lived till the completion of his iEneid ; 
Apelles would have put the finishing hand upon his 
Venus. I regret that I must pass, with only a nod of 
recognition, Palissot, Mercier, Millevoye, Guinguene, 
David the painter, and even the elegant, the witty, and 
profligate Beaumarchais. Who can pass without a sigh 
the grave of Lavalette ? His head was stripped of its 
hair and prepared for the guillotine, when he was saved 
by his wife. Her agitation and excessive terror lest he 
should be retaken, affected her brain, and she went mad. 
Her madness is of a calm and melancholy kind; she sits 
whole hours in meditation, and has not spoken a word 
for several years. - She is lodged in a maison de sante 
near Paris. 

I strolled awhile amongst the " temporary cessions," 
the graves of the poor. There are no trees here, or ar- 
tificial tombs. A border of box- wood, and sometimes 
a wire wicker-work, with a wooden cross, is all .their 
decoration. I read the inscriptions upon the crosses. t 

Pierre Robin 

Age de 67 ans 

Une des Victimes du 28 Juillet, 1830. 

By the side in the same wicker enclosure : 

Ici repose une victime inconnu, du 28 Juillet, 1832. 

A little tricolored flag was waving between them. 

The following is of a mother upon a child of four 
years. 

"Pres de mourir, elle nous disait: Ne pleure pas, 
Papa; ne pleure pas, maman; je me sensmieux, 
Et elle mourut! 

Of a son : 

Passant, donne une larme a ma mere, en pensant a la tienne. 



LANGUAGE OF THE HEART. 51 

Of a wife : 

Elle vecut bien, elle aima bien, elle mourut bien. 

Of an old woman of 81 : 

Une jour on dira de moi, ce qu'on a dit des autres ; 
Marie Anne Palet est raorte, et Ton n'en parlera plus. 

This one is pretty : 

Pauvre Marie, 
A 29 Ans! 

There is a still prettier one of the same kind at 
New York— "My Mother." 

The simple language of the heart succeeds better 
in epitaphs than the " lettered Muse ;" for grief at the 
dissolution of natural ties is usually more intense amongst 
the poor than the rich ; this is notoriously manifest in 
the funeral ceremonies of Pere la Chaise. How, indeed, 
should my lady not rejoice when her lord is dead, if she 
looks well in black ; and my young lord who has popped 
into an estate and title, how should he be sorry ? One 
ought not, however,- to blame the rich for exhibit- 
ing the signs of woe even where the reality is deficient. 
The affectation of a virtue is better than the neglect of 
it ; but I would not have it carried to a ridiculous ex- 
cess. I have heard of a French nobleman here, a M. 
Brumoi, who, at his mother's death, put his park into 
mourning ; he craped his deer ; put black fish in his 
ponds, and brought from Paris several barrels of ink to 
supply his jets d'eaux. And every one has read of the 
Danish count, who had his statue placed by the grave 
of his wife upon a spring, causing the water to spurt 
through one of the eyes. This" statue exists yet near 
Copenhagen, and is called the " Weeping Eye." — You 
will often see, amongst the poor of Pere la Chaise, a 
half grown girl kneeling by the fresh earth after the con- 



52 CHARACTER OF PERE LA CHAISE. 

voy has departed, or a mother lingering over the grave 
of her child. 

I ascended the hill again by the east side. Only 
think of walking upon the very earth consecrated so 
often by the pious footsteps of Madame de Maintenon. 
It was here she poured out her little peccadilloes into 
the bosom of Pere la Chaise. She brought him out 
from his obscurity of a schoolmaster of Lyons, and 
raised him to the dignity of confessor (some say rival) 
to the king. This father was of extraordinary per- 
sonal beauty, and polished manners. When he had 
stepped into the graces of the king, he used the royal 
favor to enrich himself and his order. His style of 
living was magnificent; his equipages gorgeous, and 
in his costly banquets he rivaled the most sumptuous 
monarchs. To gain admission to his soirees was a 
favor solicited by princes. He was crafty, wily, sub- 
tle and eloquent, says Duclos, and he alarmed or 
soothed the conscience of the king as best suited his 
nterests. "He surprises his majesty," says Madame 
de Maintenon, " into the most boundless liberality by 
the mere force of his eloquence." The king pro- 
nounced, himself, the eloge of his confessor at his death 
in 1709. " He was always," says his majesty, " of a for- 
giving temper." On the site of these tombs were once 
his pleasure-grounds ; and here the proud Jesuit Mood 
often and looked down upon the court and city at his 
feet. The ruins of his elegant summer palace have 
perished, but a part of his orchard still remains. I 
walked up through a low valley, once the channel of a 
stream that had supplied the water-pots, the cascades 
and fountains of this reverend father. It is a romantic 
spot, but barren of trees and shrubbery. I would plant 
here the drooping willow, the cypress of hoary gray, 



GRAVES OF ENGLISHMEN. 53 

and I would teach the jay bird in its plumage of crape 
to build here its nest; and while ambition climbs the 
summit of the hill, the tender poets and the unfortunate 
lovers should come to be buried in this melancholy 
valley. 

It is an advantage of eternity, that one may squan- 
der as much as one pleases of it without diminishing 
the capital. I found that the sun of our world was 
descending fast upon the roofs of St. Cloud, and I was 
obliged to run over an acre or two of graves with only 
a general stare. I hurried about in search of several 
I had heard of distinguished for their splendor, but in 
vain. There should be a " directory" to tell us where 
the dead people live. I stumbled at last upon a whole 
plot of English, coteried apart near the wall side ; 
General Murray ; Cochran, brother of the admiral ; 
Caroline Sidney Smith, my lady Campbell, Captain 
O'Connor, and other august personages. Their tombs 
are very genteel.- An Englishman always seems to 
me (foolishly perhaps) a greater man than a French- 
man, and a Roman than a Greek, with the same degree 
of merit. The one, I believe, makes his wisdom pass 
for more, the other for less than it is worth. The great 
polish of the human character diminishes its solidity. 
Lord Chesterfield would have been a greater man if he 
had been more an Englishman. Lord Bacon and 
Shakspeare both say that a certain reserve of speech 
and manner adds to the general opinion of one's merits. 
The Frenchman wastes, and the Englishman husbands 
his greatness; the latter hides his little passions, and does 
small things by deputy. Like Moses he retires into the 
mountain and bids Aaron " speak unto the children of 
Israel." But the truth is, there is an illusion in my mind 
at present about all that is English ; I have been so long 

5*^ 



54 GRAVES OF AMERICANS. 

over head and ears in French people. I read over these 
English graves as a studious schoolboy his lesson. 

Whilst perusing this page of the great volume, I came 
with astonishment, not expecting such a rencontre, upon 
the names of several of our own countrymen, and even 
of our own townsmen. Of Philadelphia were William 
Temple Franklin, Adam Seybert, our old congressman 
and chemist, Samuel Ralston, and Jacob Girard Koch; he 
who used to " breakfast with the Houris and quaff nec- 
tar with Jove at noon." His great regret, they say, in 
dying, was an apprehension that there might not be good 
dinners in the other world. There is here an eloquent 
and simple tomb upon the grave of Miss Butler, who 
was cut off in the expectation of unusual accomplish- 
ments and in the roseate freshness of her youth. 

" Rose, elle a vecu ce que vivent les roses, 
L'espace d'un matin." ■ 

1 remarked, also, the names of K. M. Smith, New York, 
Harriet Lewis, New London, Frances Morrison, Ken- 
tucky, Francina Wilder, and Mrs. Otis of Boston. A 
cypress is planted by the grave of Dr. Campbell of 
Tennessee, and some French garlands are hung upon its 
branches. Who is he who has won these pious atten- 
tions from the hands of strangers ? I am now writing 
from the inkstand which once belonged to him, and 
which I will put with my relics. I am lodging in his 
room, and with the person who attended his fatal illness. 
She gave me his biography as follows : « He was always 
good, always polite, and every one loved him f ? and 
then she burst into tears. 

The last grave 1 looked upon 1 will now read to you: 
Died, March 1st, 1832, Frances Anne, Countess Colonna 
de Walewski, daughter of the late John Bulkeley, Esq., 



CEMETERIES HEAR TOWNS. 55 

of Lisbon, widow of the late General Humphreys^ of 
the United States, minister in Spain and Portugal.— I 
could write a romance at the foot of this monument. I 
lingered here until the last glimmerings of day faded, 
and night covered all but the bleak and snowy marble. 
I then descended the hill, and with many a solemn re- 
flection, reached my solitary lodge in the Faubourg St, 
Germain. 

Let us reason awhile about the grave. The custom 
of locating graveyards in cities and towns, so universal 
in America, has been discontinued in nearly all these 
old countries of Europe. France has set the excellent 
example, which has been followed through the conti- 
nent, and the large towns of England — London, Liver- 
pool, Manchester, Cheltenham, and several others — and 
all the world acknowledged its necessity. Such a mea- 
sure was not adopted here until the agency of burying- 
grounds in corrupting the air and producing disease, was 
proved by numerous examples and experiments. An 
account of these, contained in several hundred pages, 
was published by Maset, secretary to the Academy of 
Dijon, the one-twentieth of which would fill with terror 
all those who live in dangerous contiguity with a city 
graveyard. It is high time your towns in America 
should give this subject a serious attention. Your grave- 
yards are multiplying in number and extent prodigiously 
in the midst of communities which are likely, in a few 
years, to be numerously increased. Your Pottsville, 
which is about eight years old, has already six grave- 
yards, whose population nearly equals that of the vil- 
lage. All those who die upon the railroads, mines and 
canals, for twenty miles around, have themselves carried 
in and buried in town — as if to be convenient to mar- 
ket. A citizen of Pottsville does consent sometimes to 



56 THE MANNER OF INTERMENT. 

reside in the country during his lifetime, but he does! not 
think it genteel to pass his eternity out of town ; and 
your miner soothes himself with the consolation that 
though he has many toils and perils in life, he will one 
day come out of the ground to be buried in Pottsville. 
It is in their infancy that such evils ought to be averted. 
They are more easily prevented than cured. And there 
are enough of other considerations besides health to urge 
the importance of the subject. Everybody knows the 
indecent irreverence and general inattention with which 
graveyards are regarded in towns and cities. In many 
of them monuments are defaced and scribbled on, and 
the place even desecrated sometimes by the obscenity 
and brutal violation of visitors. To prevent this they 
are often enclosed by high walls, and rendered invisible. 
If the object were to forget one's ancestors there could 
not be a better contrivance. It is worth while to squan- 
der away the best parts of a city to bring one's deceased 
parents into oblivion or contempt ! That this is the case 
cannot be denied. The citizen, the clergyman, the grave- 
digger and the sexton, are all affected by the bones of 
their ancestors alike. 

Who first brought this system of vampirism into use? 
It was at least a modern. At Babylon they buried the 
dead in the valley of . . . . look into your Bible-; and the 
valley of Jehoshaphat, I believe, was out of town. The 
interment of the dead within the precincts of the city was 
prohibited at Rome by law. The Greeks had the same 
regulations, and forbid expressly that the temples of the 
gods should be profaned by the sepulture of the dead. 
The Achseans buried only one man in town, Aratus — 
look into your Plutarch. If they had governed our 
city councils, they would have buried us all out of town, 
except « Benjamin Franklin and Deborah his wife." 



HONORS DUE TO EMINENT CITIZENS. 57 

The first Christians followed the Pagans and Jews in 
this, and for a long time graves were not allowed to en- 
croach upon the sanctuary of the church. But some 
pious and popular bishop having died in the course of 
time, I presume, they buried him with his church, as 
they bury an Indian with his canoe ; and then another 
and another, or perhaps, some fat and lazy priest wished 
to have his dead family about him for the convenience 
of praying upon them. Who is going all the way to 
Pere la Chaise? So he could just step out in his gown 
and slippers and dismiss the poor soul to purgatory, and 
then step back again to his soupe a la Julien. And then 
came avarice to sanction this convenience. We can heap 
generation upon generation and sell a churchyard over 
and over again to eternity. 

Make me chief burgess of Pottsville, and I will pro- 
vide a choice piece of ground overlooking the village, 
and apart from the living habitations — on a single plot, 
and with separate apartments for the several denomi- 
nations ; and this I will cultivate tastefully with trees 
and shrubbery, and lay it out with agreeable walks. I 
will make the dead an ornament, instead of a nuisance 
and deformity to the living ; and I will bind your erratic 
population to the soil, by the decency with which I will 
bury their fathers and mothers ; and by improving the 
kindred affections, I will improve, at the same time, the 
moral and religious feelings of the community. I will 
carve out, from one of your rugged hills, a decent and 
solitary retreat, where we may sometimes escape from 
the business, the anxieties and frivolities of life, and 
where we may peruse the last sad page of our own his- 
tory, upon the silent and solemn annals of the grave. 

In a place of decent appearance, and of public resort 
and ample space, we have the means (which we have 



58 LOCATION OF CEMETERIES. 

not ill our shabby and contracted graveyards of the 
towns) of paying honor to the memory of an eminent 
citizen or public benefactor; a duty in which we are 
negligent beyond the example of all other nations ; and 
emulating the princely splendor of Europe in other 
things, we cannot excuse ourselves upon the republic- 
anism and simplicity of our tastes in this. Are the 
virtues of a great man so graven upon our memories, 
that he needs no other memorial ? and are we all so vir- 
tuous ourselves and our children, as to need no excite- 
ments to emulation ? — To do honor to those who have 
performed eminent service to the community, is as well 
a commendable policy, as it is an act of justice and gra- 
titude. It produces in generous minds, a rivalship of 
honorable actions. It makes one good deed the parent 
of a numerous offspring. It is the seed of virtue — the 
grain of corn that rewards the cultivator with a full and 
ripened ear. On the other hand, neglect, the cold neg- 
lect that is practised in our country, freezes the current 
of public spirit ; and the people, who are guilty of it, 
need not complain that they are barren of generous ac- 
tions, or that they, who have been fortunate in acquiring 
wealth, should choose to spend it rather upon selfish and 
transitory interests, than upon schemes of permanent 
public utility. Even our savages pay respectful honors 
to the dead, and a luxury of graveyards is of ahr anti- 
quity; it has even the most ancient scriptural authority 
in favor of it-— "Thou art a mighty prince, in the choicest 
of our sepulchres bury thy dead." — (Genesis.) 

I will now put an end to this long letter, with a few 
of the French regulations for the inhumation of the dead 
of cities and towns. 

All cemeteries are required to be located without the 
towns; avoiding low, wet, or confined situations, On an 



FUNERALS CONDUCTED BY A COMPANY. 59 

elevated site, the fetid emanations are dispersed by the 
winds. The dead bodies are to be covered with, at least, 
four feet of earth, and placed in such a manner that 
there may be four feet of interval between each, and 
two feet at the head and foot — about fifty-two square 
feet for each corpse. It is known from experiment, 
that animal decomposition requires about four years, 
and the graveyard is to be made four times greater than 
appears necessary for the number of persons to be in- 
terred in it. 

The graves are disposed of in perpetuity, or in tem- 
porary cessions of six years ; the former at twenty-five 
dollars per metre, of three feet ; two metres are required 
for a grave ; and the latter at ten dollars. These are 
disposable anew at the end of the term — the first occu- 
pant having the " refusal." From the extent of the 
grounds, this has not yet been required. But Death has 
nearly filled up the whole space, and is looking out for 
additions to his estate. A miser, who lives next door to 
him, taking advantage of his necessity, asks, for three- 
quarters of an acre, twelve thousand dollars ! 

All the funerals are in the hands of a company, who 
have their office, keep a register of the dead, and attend 
to all their wants. Companies having no souls, the 
French fulfil the Scriptures, and " let the dead bury the 
dead." Having its stock of carriages, grave-diggers, 
weepers, and all such things on hand, the company is 
enabled, they say, to bury cheaper than the individuals 
themselves. It has, besides, a fixed price for the rich, 
which enables it to eat an annual dinner, and bury the 
poor for nothing. The dinner is, no doubt, good, but the 
burying of the poor, as all things else which are done 
for nothing in Paris, is performed in a niggardly and 
heartless manner. If you make any such provision for 



60 THE LOUVRE. 

your new graveyard of Pottsville, let it honor the hand 
that confers it. Give the poor man his priest, and apply 
to a life, perhaps, of unmerited sorrow z — a little extreme 
unction. 

The leaves, nipt by the first frosts, are already strewed 
thick upon the Luxembourg ; and your hills are, no 
doubt, putting on their variegated hues of the autumn. 
My advice is, that you dissolve the cold, by putting 
largely of the anthracite upon your grate ; that you 
bring out your old wine, and be joyful, while your knees 
are green — see where Pere la Chese stands beckoning 
from the heights of Mount-Louis. — I give my compli- 
ments to the girls, and say you, sweet, good night. 



LETTER XIV. 

The Louvre— Patronage of the fine arts— The Luxembourg — The 
Palais des Beaux Arts— The Sevres porcelain — The Gobelins- 
Manners of the common people in Paris — A fair cicerone — Her 
remarks on painting — The French, Flemish, and Italian schools — 
English patronage of art— The new national gallery — Sir Christo- 
pher Wren — A tender adieu. 

Paris, Nov. 14th, 1835. 

I have passed the morning in the Louvre, and have 
nothing in my head but galleries and pictures; and you 
must expect nothing else through the whole of this let- 
ter. You may dread a long letter too, for you know, the 
less one is conversant with a subject, the more one is 
likely to reason upon it. In the Louvre, the pictures 
occupy both walls of a room thirty feet wide by a quar- 



MUSEUMS IN PARIS. 61 

ter of a mile long, and consists of about twelve hundred 
pieces of native and foreign artists. In the same build- 
ing, also, is the Musee des •Antiques, containing 736 sta- 
tues, with bronzes and precious vases ; also the Musee 
des Desseins, with 25,000 engravings ; the Musee de la 
Marine, with models of vessels, and the Musee Egypt- 
ten, with collections of Egyptian, Roman and Grecian 
antiquities. An exhibition, too, is held here, from the 
first of March till May every year, of the works of liv- 
ing artists, painters, sculptors, engravers, architects and 
lithographers. Paris, in patronizing the fine arts, has 
taken the lead of all the cities in Europe. The govern- 
ment spends annually large sums, and extensive pur- 
chases are made by the royal family, and wealthy indi- 
viduals. They do not hoard their pictures in private 
houses, as in England, but place them, as in ancient 
Greece, in the public collections. They improve, there- 
fore, the public taste and embellish their city. It is one 
of the means by which they entice amongst them rich 
foreigners, who always pay back with usurious interest 
the money spent for their entertainment. 

There is, besides, a public gallery in the Palace of 
Luxembourg, which contains collections of paintings and 
sculpture of living French artists since 1825. The other 
museums are those of natural history at the Garden of 
Plants, and the Musee d'Artillerie, containing all kinds 
of military weapons, used by the French from the re- 
motest periods of their history ; also the " Conservatory 
of Arts and Trades," where models of every French 
invention, from a doll-baby to an Orrery and steam-en- 
gine, have been preserved — the greatest museum of gim- 
cracks, they say, in the world. This gives two courses 
of gratuitous lectures under distinguised professors, and 
has a free school in which young men are taught the 

VOL. II. — 6 



62 SEVRES PORCELAIN. 

arts. To these you may add the " Palais des Beaux 
•Arts" begun in 1820, and now near its completion, 
which is destined to be one of the splendid miracles of 
Paris. The " Gallery of Architecture/' which is already 
rich, is to be increased with copies of the choice sculp- 
ture, statuary, and architecture of all the world, so that 
students will have no longer to run after the originals 
into foreign countries. 

There are two manufacturing establishments here 
with galleries of their produce, which have dignity 
enough to be mentioned even with the Louvre ■; the 
Sevres Porcelain, and the weaving of the Gobelins. In 
the gallery of the porcelain, some of the specimens are 
inconceivable. There was scarcely less difference be- 
tween mother Eve and the clay that made her than is 
between the original materials, and one of these exqui- 
site vases. Gold blushes to see itself outdone by the 
rude earth at the tables of the Rothschilds and other 
lords. Plate of the precious metal is mean in compari- 
son. Porcelain has fragility in its favor. I priced you 
breakfast plates at 2000 francs each, and a table to set 
them on at 30,000 • and a vase with American scenery, 
asif Iris herself had painted it, 35,000. But why, after 
all, put this exquisite art upon matter so destructible, 
and upon objects destined to mean services? Why bake 
Vandykes upon your cream jugs, and Raphaels and An- 
gelos on your wash-basin, and the Lord knows what 
else ? there are things which admit of ornament only 
to a certain extent. 

At the Gobelins the most intricate groups of paintings 
are interwoven in the carpets and tapestry of churches 
and palaces. The great Peter superintending the bat- 
tle at Pultawa, the Duke d'Epernon carrying off the 
queen, St. Paul sacrificing to his idols, and St. Stephen 



THE GOBELINS TAPESTRY. 63 

pouring out his soul towards Heaven, are all under the 
shuttle or starting into life from the woof and chain of 
a weaver's web. And here is Marie de Medicis and 
two other ladies just out of the loom. The most effemi- 
nate tints, the nicest features have a glow and delicacy 
equaled but by the best paintings upon canvas. Only 
think ! the charms of the divinest female ; her arched 
eyebrows, her lips, like the opening flower, gently 
parted, as if going to speak; her graceful smile, which 
steals away the senses, and all the Heaven of her fea- 
tures, may be expressed in wool. Here are carpets to be 
trodden on only by queens, and to be purchased only 
with queen's revenues. One of the cheapest is 8000 
dollars. Two hundred years have been employed upon 
a single piece. All that you have read about the " weav- 
ing of the Dardan Dames," of the webs of Penelope 
and other ladies, is nothing but mythology. Here is a 
Bonaparte in the plague of Egypt so natural and so 
animate, of such questionable shapes and features, one 
is almost ready to exclaim with Hamlet, " Be thou a 
spirit" ... (the temptation to a pun is not quite so bad 
as the offence) . . . You are tempted almost to speak to 
him, so full is he of expression and vitality. The work- 
men of the Gobelins require six years' apprenticeship and 
twenty years to become proficients. Under the ancient 
government they were locked up for life, like old Deda- 
lus, within the walls ; and no one is now permitted to 
buy or sell without an order of the king. A dyeing es- 
tablishment is kept under an able chemist expressly to 
supply this factory with colors. 

The doors of all the French galleries are opened on 
certain days of the week to everybody, and a special 
favor of every day is extended to strangers. Minerva, 
like the others of her sex in Paris, cares not to be rum- 



64 THE GALLERIES. 

pled a little by the crowd, or stared at by the vulgar. 
The rich are refined always sufficiently of their own 
will and resources ; but in the condition of the poor 
man — his poverty, the contempt which follows poverty, 
everything tends to debasement. It is surely, then, wise 
in a government to devise such institutions, and encou- 
rage such modes and fashions, as may ennoble the 
motives, refine the tastes, and employ innocently the idle 
hours of the poor ; and since one member of a com- 
munity cannot be badly affected without injury to the 
rest, it is the proper business of the rich to second such 
measures of policy. It is certain that no city of the 
world contains so many violent principles of corruption 
as Paris, and it is equally certain that the common 
people have an air of neatness and decency not equaled 
by the same class of any other country. As for grace, 
it is here (and it is nowhere else) a mere bourgeois and 
plebeian quality. The distinction, too, is as remakable in 
conversation as in manners. There is not a milliner or 
shop-girl at fifteen sous a day, whose head is not a little 
museum of pictures; she will converse with you, too, of 
the Malebrans and Taglionis and Scribes, with nearly 
the same sense and the same phraseology, as the Jour- 
nal des Spectacles. But the Frenchman seeks his re T - 
creation in the dance, the theatre, in the pure air of his 
gardens, and in these galleries of statues and paintings,, 
whilst the Englishman skulks into his gin-shop. No one 
can walk into these galleries on the public days and not 
see that there is in man a natural attraction for the 
arts which exalt and refine his nature. We follow our 
mother country in many things, and we follow her espe- 
cially in her whims and her vices. She shuts out the 
public from her pictures and then complains that there 
is no public taste. And she imports her Lelys and God- 



FRENCH AND ENGLISH TASTES. 65 

frey Knellers from abroad. We have a gallery in 
Philadelphia, and though there is but one picture in it, 
admission to this one picture is a shilling sterling. It is 
the " Last Supper/' and we have puffed in all the 
newspapers the religious impressions which it inspires, 
(for a shilling.) I ask pardon of the " Academy of Fine 
Arts ;" it has also pictures, which arevisited by fashion- 
able people once a year ; admission twenty-five cents. 

The ancients set more value upon this silent kind of 
instruction than we moderns. A Spartan mother rocked 
her baby in a shield, and she dressed the household gods 
in armor, that her little Leonidas might have the image 
of war before his eyes, even in his prayers. She even 
commenced this course of education before the child's 
birth. For she took care to have bucklers and helmets, 
and portraits of Castor and Pollux and other heroes 
hung around her chamber ; and to have some martial air 
played over her couch of a morning, that she might not 
by pusillanimous dreams spoil her child while breeding 
him. The " city councils," too, of that country employed 
certain grave old men, good for nothing else, to inspect 
the public morals, and especially to take care that the 
recreations of the youth should be public. In a word, 
they thought it better by such impressions and such 
vigilance to anticipate the dispositions of men to be bad, 
than to build " Houses of Refuge" and " Penitentiaries" 
to correct them. We prefer to connive at the opportu- 
nity of sin, till men have become rogues, and then hang 
them. But, to take the example of a people nearer our 
own manners, there can be no doubt that the excellent 
specimens of the Fine Arts exhibited daily to the Athe- 
nians in the embellishment of their city, with the pomp 
of their games and festivals, gave them that exquisite 
taste, that grace of movement, language, dress and man- 

6* 



66 THE LOUVRE. 

ner, in which they had an acknowledged superiority 
over all other people of the world. 

To enter the Louvre this morning, I used the stranger's 
privilege, and unfolding my passport, a lady, with so 
much the air of a lady as to be sure of meeting no re- 
pulse, taking my arm, said, " Sir, I will ask the favor of 
going in with you— I will be your wife two minutes;' 7 
and we went in together. A Frenchwoman says and 
does things sometimes at which our American honor 
grows very indignant, yet does she say and do no 
harm. In conversing with this woman, I did not doubt 
"two minutes" of her being of the best breeding and 
education. She had resided at Florence, and a long time 
at Rome, and had exactly that kind of information which 
the necessities of my condition required. I entreated 
her, of course, not to be divorced at the end of the 
" minutes." She has wit and learning, and is eloquent 
to the very ends of her fingers ; her personal beauty, 
too, is of no common rate, but just threatening to fade ; 
the period at which woman, to my taste, is much more 
interesting than with the full-blown charms of seventeen 
summers in her face. She has then the interest of a pos- 
session which soon may escape ; she has maturity of 
intelligence, of feeling and expression, to which the bril- 
liancy of youthful beauty is as the tinsel to the pure 
gold. 

The Louvre has nine divisions, bounded each by an 
arch resting on four Corinthian columns, and pilasters 
of beautiful marble, and having bases and capitals of 
bronze-gilt ; and between them are mirrors, and splen- 
did ancient and modern vases and busts. Three of these 
parts are assigned to the French, three to the German, 
Flemish and Dutch, and as many to the Italian and Span- 
ish masters. I walked with my amiable virtuoso, up 



THE FRENCH SCHOOL. 67 

and down this enchanting gallery for an hour ; gathering 
wisdom, not being allowed to gather anything else from 
her lips. And we conversed, not of politics, or the 
town scandal, but of what it imported me more to know, 
of Florence, and of the treasures of that city of the arts 
—of Florence, the birth-place of Dante, of Galileo, of 
Machiavelli, of Michael Angelo ; and we conversed of 
those two great patrons of Florentine learning, Cosmo 
and Lorenzo de Medici; how the arts revived under their 
care, and nourished under their munificent protection, 
and how much more one man often does towards the 
glory and honor of a country, than ten thousand of his 
neighbors. And so we walked, and then stood still and 
looked up, to the great fatigue of our legs, a contingency 
which the French foreseeing, had provided against by 
placing sofas along each side of the room, and in front 
of the finest paintings ; so down we sat opposite the 
" French School." 

Here I put the lady back to her rudiments, and I am 
going to give you a tincture of her remarks. Before 
coming to this country I had seen neither statues nor 
pictures. I had seen only Miss "Liberty" on the bow 
of an East Indiaman, and a General Washington or 
two hospitably inviting one to put up for the night. In 
a word I had studied only in that great National Gal- 
lery of oars, the signposts. So the less I say of my own 
wit upon this subject, the better. 

"To improve your taste, sir, in painting, it is not 
the best way to dissipate your attention upon all this 
variety. Select a few pieces of the best and study 
these alone, for an hour a day, until, by comparison, 
you can distinguish their beauties, with the style and 
character of each master. You will then be able to 
read with satisfaction through the rest of the great 



68 THE FRENCH SCHOOL. 

volume; you will know what to receive, what to reject^ 
and how to economize your time and attention. Here 
are the French masters. It was under Louis XIV., and 
with Poussin, this school began. The great number of 
pictures at this time brought to Paris and exhibited pub- 
licly, gave a general taste for the art ; and we have at- 
tained since a very eminent distinction, without, how- 
ever, reaching the great masters of the Flemish and 
Italian schools. We have all the dry particulars of ex- 
cellence, such as the labor of copying the fine classical 
models, may produce. All schools, under the authority 
of a master, lead off from nature to imitation — to a mean 
practice of mere copying, which fetters and debases ge- 
nius. How much better to have open galleries, as the 
ancient Greeks, untrammeled ; where the mind may 
follow its own impulses, and recommend itself at once 
to the great tribunal, before which all human excellence 
must come at last for its recompense and fame. Hogarth, 
Reynolds, Wilson and West were all eminent before 
the birth of the Royal Academy, and who does not know 
that Reynolds would have been more eminent still, if he 
had not been thrust into its presidency? Raphael never 
read a treatise or heard a lecture on his art. All the 
great painters under Leo X. were of no school ; they 
were fostered by individuals and the public, and all the 
efforts of the Academy of St. Luc have not been; able 
to continue the breed. — When painting shows her face 
in your country, be wise and do not cramp her natural 
movements by the trammels of an Academy. 

" In this French school you must admire the life, the 
movement, the variety of Lebrun ; the serene and noble 
expression, the correct, yet grand and heroic style of the 
classical Poussin; and him whose landscapes and ta- 
bleaux contend for superiority, Claude Lorraine ; espe- 



THE DUTCH SCHOOL. 69 

daily the trees, suns, moons and lightning of his beau- 
tiful landscapes ; the fine sea pieces too, and landscapes 
of Vernet ; and Lemoine, immortal for his Hercules. — 
This last died of melancholy from the neglect of his pa- 
tron and the envy of his rivals. The next time we 
meet, I shall hear you all day praise the grace and senti- 
ment of Lesneur, and the more animated grace of Mig- 
nard; you will have adored his cupola of Val de Grace, 
and his Virgins, too, and above all, his St. Cecilia, cele- 
brated so magnificently by Moliere. 

"See wUat a different world! — The phlegmatic and 
laborious Hollander. This is nature, as it is in Am- 
sterdam, fat, Dutch nature ; wrought out to a neat and 
prudish perfection, to be accomplished only by Dutch 
patience; admirable in animals, fruits, flowers, insects, 
night-scenes, vessels, machines, and all the objects of 
commerce and arts; admirable, too, in perspective; 
its clara obscura is magic; it paints the very light of 
heaven; the shades in nature's self are not better 
blended. Don't you love this shop ? this peasant's 
kitchen? and the grotesque dresses, and comic expres- 
sion of these figures ? All, as you see, in this school, 
have the same face ; the artist has no idea of a con- 
nection between faces and minds. Scipio is a Dutch 
burgomaster. Here are Alexander and Diogenes ; either 
in the tub will do for the philosopher ; both are Dutch- 
men. But what harmony of colors ! what living carna- 
tions ! what relief! what truth and character! — these 
are Rembrandt's, and even these want spirit and dignity. 
Let us sit down here and take a long look at Rubens, 
the Titian, the Raphael of the Lower Countries— at. the 
singular beauty of his heads, his light and easy pencil ; 
the life, harmony and truth of all his compositions. 
The whole world goes to An vers, alone, to see the 



70 FLORENTINE AND LOMBARD SCHOOL. 

works of this extraordinary genius ; to see his < Cruci- 
fixion/ you would go anywhere ; you can hear his 
thief scream upon the cross. And here is Jordans, 
almost his equal, and the portraits, never to be surpassed, 
of Vandyke. Here, too, the inimitable village fetes, 
and grotesque peasantry, and soldiers of Teniers ; the 
landscapes and farms, and cattle of Potter ; and Van- 
der-meer's sheep, as natural as those which feed upon 
the down. — These last, of nearly the same character, 
are the Germans, Barer, Holbein and Kneller. 

"And now the divine Italy. The noble FJorentines; 
Michael Angela and Vinci at their head ; — the fruitful, 
the lively, the imaginative, the graceful, the majestic, 
and every other excellence combined. If you love the 
arts, you will live always in Florence. There is nothing 
here of Angelo, but this is the Joconde of Vinci, the 
most finished portrait of the world. 

" Next is Lombardy, and her fine forms and expres- 
sion ; her masterly composition, and colors, so sweetly 
blended; all the best qualities of 'excelling nature' 
are in this school formed by Correggio, who received, 
they say, his pencil from the graces. His drapery 
seems agitated by the winds. And who are these 
others, who divide equally with him the admiration of 
the world? you cannot remove your eyes from their 
charming figures— it is Permesmn and the Garacci, 
severe and correct ; and he who excels them all three in 
some of the principal features of the art, who paints 
nature in her defects, and with irresistible force and 
truth, Caravaggio; and next Guido, who paints her 
majesty and graces ; and Jilbano, in her winning and 
poetic enchantments; and Bominichini, whose obsti- 
nate genius dragged him to the very heights of Par- 
nassus, in spite of the predictions of his masters. 



SALVATOR ROSA. 71 

" In the Roman School, founded upon the antique 
models, you will have an inexhaustible source of enjoy- 
ment. Who does not love Raphael 7 His works are as 
well known as Virgil's. Who can admire enough the 
natural expression and attitudes of his figures, and his 
composition, simple and sublime ? Here are Titian's 
lively portraits and landscapes, never to be surpassed 
in force and boldness of coloring. And here is the 
fruitful, and lively, and dignified Paul Veronese, with 
his brilliant, various and magnificent draperies. His 
' Marriage of Cana,' is one of the chef-d'oeuvres of 
Italy. And here are tableaux and landscapes by the 
wild fancy of Salvator Rosa, excelling in savage na- 
ture ; who paints the arid plain and carnage of the 
battle as no one else. In America he would have 
painted your Mississippi, where its mighty flood rolls 
through the silent wilderness, or your war dance; or 
the hut of the woodman, where the panther looks 
through his window, and the rattlesnake coils upon his 
pillow, or the savage upon his lonely cliff, while survey- 
ing the firmament, he reads God's Holy Scriptures in 
the skies. 

" Of this the composition is perfect; the pas- 
sions are violent, but natural, and without disagreeable 
distortion, and the drapery even beyond ideal perfec- 
tion.— The figures have less majesty than Michael An- 
gelo's, and are more within our common nature. — His 
women, as you see, are too plump, and his children too 
grave ; whose is it? 

« And this exquisite woman? with no sins of 

her ancestors in her face, and none of their diseases and 
deformities in her limbs ; with all the sweet sensibilities, 
as the colors of the rainbow, in her expression— Who 
is she?— Who gathered these fugitive charms into her 



72 ENGLISH PATRONAGE. 

features, and who this divine grace about her limbs, to 
play upon her tapering arms, and neck and bosom, as 
the soft moonlight upon the stream ? Who made 

" AH these eminent beauties, and this dove- 
like innocence to be thrown away, as the fragrance of 
this wild rose upon a desert ; no taste to value ; no * * 

* * To be sure, her unforbidden husband ! * * * 
The other figure of the same canvas you will, no doubt, 
easily recognize. * * 

" It is no wonder ; it is a bad likeness. It 

should have less of the terrific attributes. Cloven feet 
and horns are the stupid imaginations of the monks. 
Without the temptations to sin, what exercise or oppor- 
tunity is there of virtue ? What becomes of human 
greatness— of honesty, piety, charity, continence, and 
all that props up the dignity of our race? — to be well 
painted he should have nothing of a supernatural being ; 
he should have human passions to enlist human sympa- 
thies. He should be a gentleman — a gentleman, too, in 
his most seducing and fascinating form. With such a 
nature only he can sustain the functions assigned to him 
by Providence, especially amongst women; and to cor- 
rupt the world, you must begin by them. 

"There is here, as you see, no Ecole Britannique. 
The English have given us nothing in return -for our 
Claudes and Poussins. Yet England does not yield to 
any nation of Europe in the munificence of her patron- 
age. One of her dukes pays for a picture of West's 3,000 
guineas ; another buys f Murillo V at half a million 
in a year. Walpole's collection at Houghton was valued 
at 200,000 pounds sterling. And she has not only in- 
vited the arts from foreign countries, by sumptuous 
presents, but has pensioned them, given" them degrees 



ARTS ENCOURAGED BY RELIGION. 73 

in the universities, knighted them, and married them 
with her proudest nobility. Some pretend that she 
wants the lively and quick sensibilities necessary to 
success in this art; that she raises paintings, as the fruit 
of the Indies, not natural to her climate. Bnt the 
climate of Rubens, Vandyke and Rembrandt is quite as 
Boeotian as that of Great Britain. Who ever heard of 
the sensibilities of the Hollander? The atmosphere 
which nourished a Milton, would not have smothered a 
Raphael or Michael Angelo; nor would Salvator Rosa 
have withered where Shakspeare l warbled his native 
wood-notes wild.' One of the great stimulants to ex- 
cellence has been wanting in England altogether, and is 
now weakened throughout Europe — the wealth, the in- 
fluence, the enthusiasm of the Catholic religion. This 
spirit, which, like the mythology of the Greeks, put a 
God in every niche of the Temple ; which produced the 
Angelos and Rubens, and breathed inspiration into artist 
and spectator, is quenched. Your Presbyterian preju- 
dices of the impressions produced by paintings, as well 
as by architecture and music, are now obsolete. Idola- 
try is to be feared only among a savage or very ignorant 
people. We have got beyond these limits; and a 
picture of the Saviour or the Virgin can have no worse 
effect now in a church, than the picture of a father or 
mother in the habitation of their children. England 
will have a school of paintings, when she will have 
public galleries and a public taste, when the artist shall 
hold the reins of his imagination in his own hands, 
and shall paint, not for private recompense, but public 
fame, and not for the Duke of Sutherland, but the na- 
tion. In portraits, where vanity supplies a public taste, 
England excels ; and the engraver, who ministers to the 
common pride, and supplies the furniture of the parlor, 

VOL. II. — 7 



74 TABLEAU OF PARIS. 

and the lady's annual, succeeds as nowhere else. Van- 
dyke, who painted the < Descent from the Cross,' in 
his own country, painted in England only portraits ; as 
affording him a better remuneration than his exertions on 
historical subjects. 

"These seven pieces every one admires for their mel- 
low coloring, and for their bold and vigorous expression 
— they are of the Spaniard Murillo. With these I beg 
leave to close my lecture, and to thank you for your 
amiable and patient attention." 

Now this is the end of the Louvre — Are you not 
glad? To designate by single epithets persons, who 
have a hundred qualities, is too absurd ; but to seem to 
know something about paintings, is so very genteel ! 

As you cross the Pont des Jirts, you will see, placed 
in its centre, a bench to accommodate weary travelers. 
You may now fancy me seated — long enough, at least, 
to fill the rest of this page — upon this bench. The 
breezes here fan you with their little wings, and the 
landscape is covered with delightful images. The Seine 
flows from under your feet so smooth, you can count the 
stars in its surface. It is arched by seventeen sumptuous 
bridges, many of them in sight; and the dwellings of 
luxurious men, and the temples of the Divinity, vie with 
each other in magnificence, upon its banks, and the 
steeples stand tiptoe upon the neighboring hills. 

"The correspondence of the architecture is not acci- 
dental. You must look at Paris as a picture, and exa- 
mine the composition, as well as the execution of the 
parts. Its monuments are not only beautiful in them- 
selves, but are made, as you see, to harmonize with 
each other. The Louvre, the Institute, the Arch of 
Neuilly, the Tuileries and its gardens, the Madelaine, 
the Palais Bourbons, the Seine and all its turreted cas- 



ACADEMIES OF ART. 75 

ties,— all are but parts of the same tableau. In this 
respect Paris, so inferior to London in wealth, and to 
Rome in situation, is yet more beautiful than either. St. 
Paul's harmonizes with nothing — Westminster Abbey, 
also, is lost in its individuality. The 'New Gallery' 
occupies one of the best situations in Europe, only cum- 
bering the ground which the taste of a better age might 
have employed to the ornament of the city. London 
monuments are built, as at Thebes, an son du Tam- 
bour ; they are built for the job, and ours for the honor 
of Paris and posterity. The Madelaine, yet under the 
architect, was begun sixty years ago ; St. Paul's was 
built by the same architect, and the same mason. Chris- 
topher Wren was employed upon it at two hundred a- 
year, and had a suit at law for a few half-pence, which 
stood unpaid upon his bill. 

"This 'Palais des Beaux Arts' is now the palace of 
the Institute. As it stands at the head of our fine arts, 
as well as letters, I may as well tell you the little I 
know of its organization. It is the old Academie 
Frangaise, expanded from forty to several hundred 
members. They are separated into four divisions, hav- 
ing only the hall and library in common; and their com- 
mon funds are managed by a joint committee from each ; 
and they have a united meeting yearly, on the first of 
May. The vacancies are filled by ballot of the mem- 
bers, with the approbation of the king. Each member 
receives an annual salary of 1500 francs, except honor- 
ary members, who are contented with the honor. 

" The c Academie des Beaux Arts' distributes prizes 
in painting, sculpture, architecture, engraving, and mu- 
sical composition; and the successful candidates pursue 
their studies at Rome at the expense of the state. The 
6 Academie des Belles Lei Ires' gives also a prize of 1500 



76 ROMANCE. 

francs, and medals for the best memoir on French an- 
tiquities. The e Jlcadzmie des Sciences' awards a prize 
of 3000 francs, on a given subject, and smaller prizes 
upon specific branches of science ; and finally, the < «/?ca- 
demie Frangaise,' upon a proposed subject, pays a 
prize of 1500 francs, and some of smaller amount — one 
called the i Montyon Prize/ for some act of virtue in 
the common class of society." 

Here my fair cicerone slipped through my fingers — 
not, indeed, without an effort on my part to hold her fast. 
— I threatened her not to survive. 

-" Yes, do ; and you can put in for the Montyon prize 
of this year. We are just under the tower of Philip 
Augustus, so the end, like the beginning of our acquaint- 
ance, will have something of romance. — Oh no, my 
name would spoil all the interest of the plot; what is a 
plot without a mystery ?" 

" A romance beginning with a marriage, has usually 
a tragical end." 

" And so end the best romances — where could you 
find for the catastrophe a more desirable place ? Here 
stood the Tour de Nesle of tragical memory, and you 
have in view the Pont Neuf, and there is the Morgue." 

"It is a pity," said I, in a pique, " that Nature had 
not taken some of the pains she has lavished upon your 
brains and your beauty, to give to your heart. Yo4* see 
a stranger, never before a traveler, wandering in your 
country " 

" A stranger, never before a traveler, is not to my 
taste. Such a traveler's views of human nature are 
very narrow. He judges of merit always by some mode 
or fashion of his own, and sets up his whims as the 
standard of propriety for others. One who has traveled 
does not think a fellow-creature bad because she may 



POLITENESS. 77 

deviate from the little etiquette of his native village. He 
does not think anything wrong that is not so essentially. 
If he should meet, for example, a lady, an entire stran- 
ger, who would ask his arm to see those fine pictures of 
the Louvre, in the alternative of remaining out of doors, 
and should choose, in return for his politeness, to be en- 
tertained an hour with his company, he would not infer 
that she wanted either sense or good breeding; he 
would not presume, on such appearances, to treat her 
with less respect — much less " 

I dropped the hand I had taken without her leave. 
She then returned it, and bade me adieu ; crossing the 
bridge and traversing the Quai de La Monriaie, where 
she disappeared into the narrow lanes of St. Germain— 
and there was an end of her. 

I intended in setting out to give you the cream of her 
conversation, but it turns out to be the skim milk only ; 
and I have no time for revision. There is nothing so 
insipid and creamless as the fine things people say to 
one's self, and especially the fine things one says in 
reply. 

This, with a little package of music, will be handed 

you by Mr. D , who is going to accompany it all 

the way himself. — -The obliging man ! Please give him 
your thanks, and to his prettiest little wife in the world 
a thousand compliments from your very devoted humble 
servant. 



<73 



78 LITERATURE. 



LETTER XV. 

The schools — State of literature — Minister of Public Instruction-**" 
Education in France — Prussian system— Parochial school — Nor- 
mal schools — Institutions of Paris — Public libraries — Machinery 
of French justice — The judges — Eloquence of the bar — Medicine 
— Corporation of learning — Their evils — The French Institute- 
Pretended new system of instruction — Professors of Paris. 

. Paris, November 20th, 1835. 
One of the eminent merits of the French character is 
the distinction they bestow upon letters. A literary re- 
putation is at once a passport to the first respect in pri- 
vate life, and to the first honors in the state. In Paris 
it gives the tone, which it does nowhere else, to fashion- 
able society. It is not that Paris loves money less than 
other cities, but she loves learning more, and that titled 
rank being curtailed of its natural influence, learning has 
taken the advance, and now travels on in the highway 
to distinction and preferment, without a patron, and with- 
out a rival. At the side of him whose blood has circu- 
lated through fifty generations, or has stood in the van of 
as many battles, is the author of a French History, born 
without a father or mother. Who is Guizot, and who 
Villemain, Cousin, Collard, Arago, Lamartine, that they 
should be set up at the head of one of the first nations 
of Europe ? Newspaper editors, schoolmasters, astrono- 
mers, and poets, who have thrust the purpled nobles 
and time-honored patricians from the market of public 
honors, and have set down quietly in their seats. The 
same marks of literary supremacy are seen through 



HIGH HANK OF LITERARY MEN. 79 

every feature of the community. Who was at Madame 
Rieamier's last night? Chateaubriand; and at the 
Duchesse d'Abrantes ? Chateaubriand. — At the Pan- 
theon the whole nave of the Temple is assigned to two 
literary men, and the Prince of Eckmuhl and such like 
are crammed into the cellar. At Pere la Chaise, David 
wears the cross of St. Louis by the side of Massena. 
Moliere is the only author of the world since the Greeks 
whose birth-day is a national festival. His statue is 
crowned on that day at the Theatre Francais, and his 
plays are represented, by order of government, upon all 
the national theatres. We ought then to presume that 
the literary and scientific institutions of the French should 
correspond with this sentiment in favor of learning ; and 
so they do. 

Here are two sheets of large post, which I must try 
to fill with this subject. I say try, because I write in 
obedience to your orders, and in total defiance of incli- 
nation. This will be the only letter I have written, since 
I am here, to any of your bearded sex, and I feel already 
very grave and dull. Not that I think ladies more fri- 
volous than men, or men more stupid than ladies, but it 
is my humor. I can write to my lady acquaintance, 
without thinking, which I esteem a special favor during 
my residence in Paris. — They do not expect me to be 
wise, and what extravagant notions you may have on 
this subject, I don't know. — If I write you nothing but 
what you know already, it will not be my fault, for I am 
unacquainted with the extent of your information, and 
you have not been specific in your inquiries. 

The authority which presides over the Public Instruc- 
tion in France, is personified under the term " Univer- 
sity," at the head of which is a minister, who has a 
salary of twenty thousand dollars, and a rank witb. the 



80 PUBLIC INSTRUCTION. 

other ministers. A " Central Board" of nine members, 
has a general superintendence of the studies, and ex- 
pense of the establishments. The divisions of the king- 
dom for the "Royal Courts/' are the school districts, 
which are called academies ; these have each a " Gover- 
nor," representing the minister, and an " Academical 
Board," the Central Board at Paris ; and each has its 
establishments, which are the Faculties, the Royal and 
Communal Colleges, Primary Schools, and Private In- 
stitutions. The instruction is Superior, Secondary, and 
Primary. 

The " Faculties" teach theology, law, medicine, science 
and letters. They confer degrees of Bachelor, Licentiate, 
and Doctor ; and are thirty-five in number. Three are 
Medical Faculties at Paris, Montpellier and Strasbourg ; 
eight are Theological ; of the Catholic Religion, six ; 
of the Protestant, two ; and nine are Faculties of Law. 
There are thirty Royal, three hundred and twenty Com- 
munal ; and two Private Colleges ; one hundred and 
twenty Private Institutions, or Boarding Schools, and 
one thousand and twenty-five Select Private Schools. 
The studies of these are Philosophy, Natural History, 
Elementary Mathematics, Latin, Greek, and modern 
languages. 

The Primary Schools embrace only reading, arithme- 
tic, and writing : and the " Primary Superior" add his- 
tory, geography, elements of chemistry, and surveying. 
Their number about fifty thousand. 

At Paris there is a " Normal School," for the edu- 
cation of Professors ; and throughout the kingdom about 
sixty for masters of the Primary Schools. 

The minister is appointed by the king, and the other 
officers directly, or indirectly by him. There are thirty 
General Inspectors, two for each academy or district. 



PRIMARY AND NORMAL SCHOOLS. 81 

The " Proviseurs" have a care of the household and 
conduct of the students, and " Censors" superintend 
studies. Teachers are selected at a distance from their 
own departments, so that no local interests may grow 
np against the great central authority. Private institu- 
tions are forbidden to teach anything else than grammar, 
elements of arithmetic, and geometry. Reports from 
the Academical Boards are examined twice a week by 
the Central Board of the University, and the University 
presents a report every two years, to the Chamber of 
Deputies. 

The education in France is a universal and uninfring- 
ible monopoly, and has the benefits and evils of such 
systems. The Central Board establishes uniformity in 
books, and instruction ; it decides whether you are to 
teach your son pot-hooks, or straight strokes; but it 
impedes also improvement in the school-books, and 
processes of teaching ; it selects competent instructors, 
but it represses the exercise of ingenuity by prescribing 
their duties; it cuts up the Lancasters, the Fellenbergs, 
and Pestalozzis by the roots. I say nothing of the 
independence of mind, without which there is neither 
genius nor virtue, which is repressed by so absolute an 
authority. It suppresses also imposture in the teachers, 
but it destroys, too, the spirit of competition which 
imparts life and vigor to all human employments. It 
does not suppress the jobbing which arises out of all 
government projects, or intrigue, or favoritism in the 
appointment of its officers. 

This is the system lately engrafted upon the great 
Prussian plan, which it is the fashion to praise so much 
about the world. Time will perhaps reveal its merits ; 
but this is by no means certain. There are other causes 
at work for the diffusion of knowledge amongst the 



82 THE PRUSSIAN SYSTEM. 

people, and it is so easy to ascribe the merit to the 
Prussians; besides it. is not likely that, once used to 
receive instruction from their magistrates, as it were, 
for nothing, the people should consent to educate them- 
selves at their own cost ; or that, seeing for a long time 
effects produced by a certain machinery, especially so 
remote from their causes, they should conceive them 
producible by any other. I have looked at the working 
of this plan in Paris and several of the neighboring 
towns, and am sorry that I cannot share in the flatter- 
ing hopes entertained of its results. Burke lays it 
down as " one of the finest problems of legislation" to 
know " What the state ought to undertake to direct by 
the public wisdom, and what it ought to leave, with as 
little interference as possible, to individual discretion." 
"All governments," he observes, "fall into the error of 
legislating too much." I have no good hopes of any 
system of education under the management of a govern- 
ment. Nothing is so badly managed as a government 
itself all over the world ; and to have as little as possible 
of it seems to me the perfection of social economy. 
The rich and middling classes will take care of their 
own children always, and no one, I presume, will say 
that they will not do it better under the impulse of 
parental feeling than they who act only from delegated 
authority. Why do we not put the cultivation of the 
earth under the management of a company ? A parent, 
being able, feels as strong a necessity to educate his 
son as to cultivate his field. To the parent only who 
is destitute, and to whom there is but the alternative of 
a bad system or none ; to him only whose instincts are 
frozen by necessity, should the sceptre of legislation be 
extended — extended as medicine to the health, with 
prudence, and only when the native vigor is irrecover- 



REMARKS UPON EDUCATION. 83 

able by the natural stimulus. You cannot by any 
human device prevent the division of the poor and rich 
into different schools; they do not attempt it even in 
arbitrary Prussia. And it is better the government, 
with its broad shoulders, than individuals, should make 
the distinction. 

Under a general system the two parties mutually 
prejudice each other. On the one hand, the current of 
private charity, so fruitful in its natural channel, is dried 
up by it. A community of which the individuals give 
cheerfully; one the timber, another the stone, another 
his' personal services, towards a building, will, under a 
public system, require to be paid for their smallest 
contributions; and how many rich legacies have we 
inherited in Philadelphia, not a dollar of which would 
have been given under a public system. On the other 
hand, how many communities through the country, 
able to support good private schools, without the 
intermeddling of the government, have no longer the 
ability, and are obliged either to send their children 
abroad, or place them, with a total disregard of their 
morals and education, in a public school, where sixty 
scholars are taught by an old gentleman of sixty. It is 
easy to imagine what sort of schools are those in which 
the teacher receives, as in New England, twenty, or as 
in Pennsylvania, thirty dollars a month, for this wide 
diffusion of his services. 

The Scotch have been putting this forty-pound a year 
system to the test since two hundred years in their 
Parochial Schools, and with the most tender nursing 
their schools are in the same puny and rickety condi- 
tion as at their seven months' birth. The Scotch are a 
persevering people, and if they begin by building a 
house at the roof, they keep building on even after the 



84 REMARKS UPON EDUCATION. 

inutility of their labors has been demonstrated. So the 
turkeys in your Schuylkill county, their eggs being 
removed, and stones substituted, continue hatching on 
as usual. The Yankees, a shrewder people, are begin- 
ning to find out that their school system, copied from 
the Scotch, notwithstanding the care with which they 
starve their teachers, is actually getting worse every 
year. I have no objection to the government giving 
money, the more, the better; but I have no hesitation 
in saying that it will serve no useful purpose unless the 
relation between parent and teacher is preserved, and 
the executive department left to their management. In 
this delicate concern the arm of the government should 
be concealed; her virtues should be busy without noise. 
If I were the state; if I owned, for example, your 
community of Pottsville, I would contribute all I could 
towards buildings, apparatus, and libraries, and circu- 
lating useful books, and above all towards elevating the 
character and acquirements of the teachers. I would 
devise some way, by a succession of honors and profits, 
to make men teach, as in the army they make them 
fight. For instance, I would pay a per centage, up to a 
certain number of pupils, to each school ; and the teacher 
with ten years approved services should receive a 'state 
diploma and the title of professor ; thirty years services 
should entitle him to half pay,and I would take care of his 
wife and children at his decease. I would not encourage, 
universities but for the advanced age of the pupils, and 
the transcendent branches ; so as to give them a higher 
character, and leave the field of general instruction open 
to the common teachers and to a fair and equal com- 
petition of abilities. Thus I should find abundant 
means of employing all my school funds ; and this with- 
out the Inspectors, Censors, Proviseurs and the other 



SUPERINTENDENCE OVER EDUCATION. 85 

expensive apparatus of the " Bureau Central de 
Paris." 

If any one of the honorable and useful departments 
of a state is filled with an inferior class of men, it shows 
a defect in the policy of such a state. If I wished to 
advise some means the most direct to degrade the cha- 
racter of a teacher, I could not hit upon one more effica- 
cious than this French and Prussian system. All that 
the Prussian receives to console his condition of absolute 
dependence, is two hundred dollars per annum; the 
highest professor at the gymnasium receives five hun- 
dred. With this "appointment" he must be all school- 
master, without any alloy of gentleman about him. It 
is certain that not any of the respectable literary circles 
of Europe will receive this working man of the Muses 
into their society. 

The Prussians are not addicted to commerce ; nor do 
they read newspapers, or meddle with the state ; their 
habits are quiet and agricultural; and they care much 
less about the heads of their children, than that their 
cabbages may have good heads for soar crout. If not 
educated by the government, they would, no doubt, re- 
main ignorant of letters. The Prussian system may, 
then, be a very good system for Prussia ; but it is not, 
therefore, necessary or applicable to the United States — 
except it be our German nests of Pennsylvania ; but 
these are melting away, and will soon be lost in the 
general improvements of the state. 

A part of this system are the Normal Schools, which 
we are trying, also, to introduce into New England. 
They seem to me of little value, for they can teach but 
little that is not taught in any other place of education ; 
besides, under present circumstances, they defeat their 
own purpose. A good school for educating teachers in 
vol. n. — 8 



bD NORMAL SCHOOLS. 

America, would, perhaps, be the very best place one 
could imagine to disqualify men for teaching. I know 
that the trustees of the " Girard College" think otherwise, 
and entertain not small hopes of supplying the whole 
country with eminent teachers from that institution. I 
do not see the reasonableness of their hopes ; unless we 
may suppose that the young gentlemen of talent, out of 
gratitude, will, forego the opportunities they will have 
of wealth and distinction in other professions, to starve 
themselves for the benefit of the state of Pennsylvania. 
Several writers here express fears that this monopoly 
of education may be turned to the prejudice of liberty; 
which I believe to be a vain apprehension.- The teachers 
being laymen, it is certain it will not be turned to the 
profit of the hierarchy. The French literature, which 
finds its way into every country of Europe, is a com- 
plete code of ridicule of the priesthood and nobility; 
and the more people are taught to read, the more diffi- 
cult will be the re-estabiishment of these two orders. 
Public opinion is but little modified by the books and 
lectures of the schools ; and the Minister's authority, 
however absolute in the University of Paris, will be but 
little felt, if in contradiction with that greater university 
—the world. The studies of the schools are forced 
upon unripe and unwilling minds ; those of society are 
voluntary, and introduced as reason is developed. Be- 
sides it is human nature to relish most 'that which is most 
prohibited. Nothing ever brought the works dangerous 
to religion more into reputation, than the denunciations 
of the clergy. In crimes, and errors, one cannot cure 
the patient, by starving and checking perspiration. It 
happens, too, that the French books, which are most 
replenished with wit and genius, are precisely those 
which are most obnoxious. It is true^ however un- 



INSTITUTIONS OF PARIS. 87 

fortunate, that education, liberty and irreligion are sown 
here in the same soil, and grow together under the same 
cultivation. To preserve the French student from the 
contagion of principles dangerous to the aristocratic and 
clerical institutions, he must be forbidden the whole of 
the national classics down to La Fontaine's Fables, in- 
cluding the history of his country — I was going to 
say the company of his father and mother, and his 
schoolmasters, 

1 must now give you an account of the particular 
institutions of Paris. You have your choice of five 
Royal Colleges: "Louis le Grand," "Henri IV,]* and 
"St. Louis" which receive boarders and externs ; and 
"Charlemagne" and "Bourbon" externs only. The 
average number of pupils for each is about a thousand. 
The studies are ancient and modern languages, mathe- 
matics, chemistry, natural philosophy, natural history, 
geography, penmanship and drawing. They are super- 
intended by a " Proviseur" and a " Directeur General 
des Etudes." In August there is a general competition 
for prizes, between a few pupils selected from each 
college, conducted with pomp before the heads of the 
universities, and other dignitaries of the city. A subject 
is given, the competitors are locked up, and a council of 
the university decides, and the names of the successful 
students, and the schools to which they belong, are 
published in the journals ; which excites a wonderful 
emulation amongst fifty, and a wonderful jealousy and 
discontent amongst five hundred; and many get prizes 
on these days who get nothing else all the rest of their 
lives. — The price of boarding and instruction is about 
220 dollars per annum. There are besides these and 
of the same character, " St. Barbe or Rollin" and 
" Stanislaus" two private colleges. — There are in the 



88 SCHOOLS OF SCIENCE. 

city, and under the inspection of the university, 116 
academies for gentlemen, and 143 for ladies ; and a great 
number of primary schools, in which about 10,000 
children are taught gratuitously or for a small price ; the 
boys by the " Frlres de la Doctrine Chretienne" and 
the girls by the " Sisters of Charity " or nearly the 
half by the " Freres Ignorantins" who profess read- 
ing and writing only, with the catechism; any one 
having higher attainments being disqualified. There 
are schools also for the blind and dumb. 

This machinery of schools, or something equivalent, 
exists in other countries, but the Parisians have two 
institutions, which they regard as choice and pre-eminent. 
Science, which is elsewhere immured in the cloisters of 
the universities, here breathes the wholesome and venti- 
lated air of social life. Wisdom uttereth her voice in 
the market-place; she crieth aloud upon the streets. 
These are the " Jlcademie de Paris" and the " College 
Royal de France." Every branch of human know- 
ledge has here its professors, and the doors of the temple 
are open to the needy of all nations. In the former, 
which you will find on the "Place Sorbonne" are 
Faculties of Theology with six professors ; of Letters 
with twelve, and Science, twelve. 

It is the theatre upon which Guizot, Coussin, Ville- 
main, and others acquired their professorial celebrity — 
a noble theatre for the encouragement, exercise, and re- 
ward of eminent abilities. The Faculties of Law and 
Medicine are held each in separate buildings. The 
" College de France" has twenty-one professors, who 
give lectures on all the higher branches of science and 
letters; also, upon the Hebrew, Chaldaic, Syriac, Arabic, 
Persian, Chinese, and Italian languages. There is be- 
sides, a Special Royal School for oriental languages, to 



PUBLIC LIBRARIES. 89 

which the government allows annually 3600 dollars. 
The salaries of professors in these schools seldom ex- 
ceed 1200 dollars; a pension is given after twenty years 
services. — Besides these, they have the " Ecole Poly- 
technique" with three hundred scholars, from 16 to 20 
years ; twenty-four at the expense of government ; the 
charges of the two others 200 dollars a-year. In connec- 
tion with this, is the "Ecole des Fonts et Chausse's" in 
which eighty of the pupils are instructed specially in the 
arts of projecting and constructing roads, canals, &c. 

There is a school for Astronomy at the Observatory ; 
also, a " School of Mines," with an extensive cabinet 
and lectures, and a "School of Pharmacy," with a bo- 
tanic garden. This gives a diploma and license to prac- 
tice to apothecaries. — There is a gratuitous school of 
Mathematics and Drawing, and one of Drawing for la- 
dies, and two courses of lectures at the Garden of Plants. 
The Conservatory of Music has four hundred pupils ; 
twelve at the expense of government; it gives prizes, 
and through the year several concerts. There is a Gym- 
nasium, too, and a school of Equitation. Mercy ! what 
a litter of schools. 

The institutions, also, for encouragement and literary 
intercourse, are numerous in all the branches of learn- 
ing. At the head of these is the " Insiitut de France." 
Of the others, the most distinguished are the " Jlcademie 
de Medecine" and the Geographical, Historical and 
Agricultural societies. 

The public libraries are the "king's," containing 
four hundred and fifty thousand volumes, sixty thousand 
manuscripts, one hundred thousand medals, and more 
than a million of engravings; the library of the Arsenal, 
one hundred and eighty thousand volumes ; of the Pan- 
theon, one hundred and fifty thousand, and thirty thou- 

8* 



90 MACHINERY OF JUSTICE. 

sand manuscripts ; the Mazarine, one hundred thousand, 
and the City Library, forty-eight thousand, and others, 
as of the Institute and Sorbonne, to be consulted occa- 
sionally. There are near two hundred Reading rooms 
also, circulating Libraries in all directions; and newspa- 
pers and reviews are a part of the furniture of every 
cafe and other public houses — without saying anything 
of the Museums, and institutions of the Fine Arts. 

In the Law School, a degree of Bachelor requires two 
years' attendance on lectures; a Licentiate, three ; and 
" Doctor of Laws" four. Pleading in court is preceded 
by a degree of Licentiate, three years' study, examina- 
tion and thesis, and after oath of office, a novitiate, or 
constant attendance on the courts, of three years. The 
lawyers are Avocats and Avoues. The latter enjoins 
twenty-five years of age, certain years of study, a certi- 
ficate of capacity from the Faculty of Law, and a clerk- 
ship of five years in a Cour Royal. The duties of the 
Jivocat are subordinate. This arrangement brings the 
inconvenience to the client of acting by two persons ; 
the want of the best advice in the beginning, of unity 
of action, and undivided responsibility. The advantage 
is, that the Avoid, not being subjected to the details and 
humbler duties of a suit, takes a higher professional 
rank and character, and is less subject to undue influ- 
ences, having no immediate relation with the parties. 
In admission to the bar, there is no inquiry about moral 
character, and the judges are selected immediately from 
the Schools. I will try to give you in two words the 
machinery of French justice. I go out of my course in 
reverence for your profession. 

There is a " Minister of Justice." His office is to 
pursue and bring to punishment all wrongs done to the 
state. It is a bad relation, being that of vengeance and 



PROCEEDINGS IN COURT, 91 

not mercy. Our principle is reversed, and the accused 
is considered guilty until proved innocent. For the 
whole kingdom there are 27 Royal courts ; and, corre- 
sponding with our Common Pleas, 365 courts called 
"Tribunals of the First Instance. 7 ' To each of the for- 
mer is attached a " Procureur General" and under 
him a " Procureur du Roi" with a " Juge d' Instruc- 
tion" and justices of the peace. — The plaintiff, or a 
police officer applies to a commissary, or mayor, or jus- 
tice, or Procureur du Roi ; and if a criminal action, the 
accused, who cannot be confined beyond twenty-four 
hours, is summoned before a " Juge d* Instruction" 
who questions, and releases or commits him. 

In the latter case, he produces him, of course with ail 
possible proofs of guilt, (and to collect these proofs he 
may detain him, innocent or not, nine months in prison) 
— before a Chamber of Council, having three judges, 
himself one, to examine whether there is cause of trial; 
and next, before a Chamber of Accusation, which exa- 
mines finally, and this concurring, he is tried at the As- 
sizes. A jury of thirty (taxables to two hundred francs) 
are chosen by ballot, of whom the accuser and accused 
strike off nine. The "Procureur General" then opens 
the trial, states the crime and names the witnesses; and 
the " Jivocat General" appeals to the jury in behalf of 
the injured community, for justice. 

The President questions first the prisoner, who, if in- 
cautious or foolish, may be led, as is the intention, to 
convict himself, or if expert, as he has the right to ques- 
tion also, he may induce discussions not always to the 
credit of the magistrate, or the majesty of justice. Se- 
condly, he examines witnesses, the prisoner and counsel 
cross-examining, and the Jivocat General then sums up 
the facts and evidence. Last of all, the accused speaks 3 



&2 JUDGES IN FRANCE. 

either by counsel or personally, in defence ; the court 
appointing counsel in case of his inability. The Pre- 
sident then sums up, gives his opinions, the jury declares 
him guilty or not guilty, and the court determines the 
punishment. Small offences are decided before a justice 
of the peace or a minor court, with liberty of appeal. 
Civil actions, below 1000 francs, are tried before a just- 
ice of peace, and decided, finally, by a Juge (P Instruc- 
tion : above that sum there is an appeal to a Royal 
Court. In the " Court of Cassation 7 ' at Paris, the de- 
cision of any criminal or civil case may be re-examined, 
and if reversed, it is referred to another tribunal. If the 
original decision is confirmed, it is reconsidered by this 
court, and if unanimous in the former opinion, it is sub- 
mitted to a third tribunal, whose decision concurring 
with the first is final. There are courts, also, expressly* 
for the decision of commercial affairs. — One at Paris, 
with a president and two judges elected from the most 
respectable merchants. The number of judges of the 
kingdom is 4,000; of justices of the peace, 3,000 ; the 
Avoues of Paris are above 200. The salary of. a jus- 
tice is 2,400 francs, of Judge of Cassation, 15,000 ; of a 
President judge, 20,000; and a Premier President, 
40,000; and the entire expense of justice, is above three 
millions and a half. 

The judges are habited in black robes of silk, with a 
crimson sash about the neck and across the breast, with 
golden tassels. The lawyers wear a black gown, and a 
* toque" or cap. They usually hire this costume for the 
occasion, from a stall within the " Palais de Justice" 
This cap supplies the place of the old wig ; it does more, 
for the pleader occasionally takes it off and shakes it at 
the judge, or throws it upon the table in the fury of de- 
bate, and then puts it on again. It is certain, that ges- 



ELOQUENCE OF THE BAR. 93 

ture was designed by Nature to make up the deficien- 
cies of language. It is often the more expressive of the 
two, and whoever omits it, or misuses it, must leave im- 
perfect his meanings or the passions he attempts to re- 
present. Cicero even sets down mimicry amongst the 
accomplishments of an orator. Whoever converses 
in English and French will feel, for some reason, a dis- 
position to much action in the one, and less in the other, 
in expressing the same feelings, which gives rise to a 
diversity of taste. 

But, in all such matters, there are standard rules in 
truth and nature which cannot, without bad effect, be 
violated. In gesture, the English sin by neglect or 
awkwardness; the French, chiefly by extravagance. Ra- 
pidity and frequency impair dignity, and even graceful- 
ness is acquired somewhat at the expense of strength. 
A French orator will tear his ruffles when the occasion 
does not warrant it ; reserving nothing for a fiercer pas- 
sion. To tell you he has seen a ghost, and not heard of 
it, he will apply a fore-finger to the under lids of his 
two eyes; and to tell you emphatically that he came 
on horseback, he will set two fingers to ride upon a 
third. While the Englishman " on high and noble 
deeds intent," puts his right hand in his bosom and his 
left in his breeches pocket. Propriety lies somewhere 
between these two extremes. There are two choice 
lawyers at the French bar at present, Berryer and 
Charles Dupin; both eminent models of chaste and 
graceful oratory. This is enough of the limping old 
lady Justice. 

A degree of Doctor of Medicine must be preceded by 
a degree of Bachelor of Letters and Science, and four 
courses of lectures, a thesis sustained in public, and five 
public examinations. A vacancy in a professorship is 



94 FRENCH SURGERY. 

supplied by a "concour," that is, the several candidates 
appear before the Faculty, a subject is given, they re- 
tire, and in the prescribed time return with their thesis, 
which they read and sustain in public, and the choice is 
settled by a majority of the judges. The diligence of a 
French doctor should take him to Heaven. He rises in 
the night, and, long before other men have left their pik 
lows, has done a good day's work. He has visited from 
four to five hundred sick in the Hospitals, prescribed for 
each, made his autopsies and other operations, and ex- 
plained the cases separately and conjointly to his pupils. 
He has then consultations till ten, breakfasts, and is in 
his Professor's chair at the hour, visiting his patients and 
giving audience in the intervals of these duties — and 
has the rest of the day to himself. In his professorial 
capacity, he wears a cap, a gown and crimson sash. He 
has given up the wig and gold-headed cane to Moliere. 
Medicine here is divided into strict specialities. One 
man feels your pulse and another gives you physic. 
This exclusive attention to one object, at the same time 
it impairs the general excellence of the profession, has 
made the French the most expert operators in the world. 
Civiale in his Lithotritie has no equal amongst living 
men; Laenuec does wonders in Auscultation with his 
stethoscope, and Larrey, who has cut off the legs of 
half Europe, and was knighted by Bonaparte fpr such 
merits, has been far obscured by the fame of Dupuytren. 
It is said here, commonly by foreigners, that in the 
French practice there is a reckless sacrifice of life and 
disregard of humanity, by adventurous and needless 
experiments ; having, at least, no other object than sur- 
gical instruction, and that, from neglect or ignorance of 
treatment after operations, the loss of patients is greater 
than in any other country. I should suppose, from what 



VIRULENCE OF PROFESSORS. 95 

1 have myself seen, that a millstone, compared to a 
French surgeon's heart, would be good pap to feed one's 
children upon. I may remark, also, that the science of 
medicine seems to me less indebted for its improvement 
to the good feelings, than to the pride, jealousy and ava- 
rice, and other bad passions of its practitioners. They 
have, to be sure, the courtesies they cannot well avoid 
for each other in social intercourse, but their private and 
professional purpose appears to be to starve each other, 
to persecute each other to the grave, and dissect each 
other after death. Broussais whips all the world, and 
all the world Broussais. A lecture of Lisfranc is a flour- 
ish of bludgeons and daggers; he lashes Velpeau and 
Roux, even stabs Dupuytren in his winding-sheet, and 
has as many lashes in return. It is surprising, that the 
professors of humanity should be precisely those who 
have least of that commodity on hand. The great dis- 
putes, just now, amongst the choice professors are, 
whether one ought to bleed or not bleed in acute fevers; 
— this in the nineteenth century ! and whether one 
should administer purgatives in typhus and typhoid 
affections. MM. Boulaud and Chaumel, and somebody 
else, are gaining famous reputations for this "new prac- 
tice," which gained and lost reputations in America 
forty-six years ago. However, from the facility of dis- 
sections, the number of sick in the hospitals, as well as 
from the eminence of the teachers, and cheapness of 
education, the School of Medicine of Paris is called, very 
generally, the best school of the world. It has at pre- 
sent, twenty-three professors, besides honorary professors 
and assistants, and the number of students is about four 
thousand five hundred. 

I have already said a great deal about these French 
schools, but I have added another sheet and may as well 



96 CORPORATIONS OF LEARNING; 

go on to the end of it. From a bare remuneration, you 
see, that education is here thrown into every one's face 
as a thing without price. If books and instruction con- 
stitute learning, the most literary people of this earth are 
assuredly, the Parisians. But there is scarcely any error 
to which short-sighted mortals are more subject, than 
referring effects to wrong causes; and I believe a very 
common application of it is, to attribute a vast number 
of virtues to our learned institutions which they are not 
entitled to. I believe we overrate, generally, the advan- 
tages to be derived from abroad to the prejudice of per- 
sonal exertions ; a source to which, after all, we must 
resort for at least three-fourths of our acquirements. 
Corporations of learning are altogether modern devices, 
and many nations were eminent in learning before their 
invention. At the end of the fifteenth century all science 
was thought to be shut up in their halls. Only think of 
ten thousand students in the University of Bologna at 
once ! — and it was not until Lord Bacon and some others 
had dissipated a little this error, and taught men to look 
into nature and experience, and not into the cloisters of 
monks, for mental improvement, that any one sought it 
elsewhere. But many persons are still wedded to the 
system, and still think that all that is wanting to the dis- 
cipline of the mind, is the munificence of government 
in founding universities; so some think that building 
churches is all that is wanted to take one to Heaven. 
There has never been a law school in Great Britain, and 
in no country of Europe has there been an equal num- 
ber of eminent lawyers and teachers of law. It is since 
the Revolution, that a law school exists with any credit 
in France, and her Hospitals and d'Augesseaus, and 
other distinguished lawyers are anterior to that date. 
And what did the old French Academy for learning, 



THEIR EVILS. 97 

I 

which the members would not have done, and done bet- 
ter, in their individual capacities? The unaided works 
of individuals of the same period are as superior to her 
united labors, as the poetry of Racine or Boileau to her 
prize poems, or Johnson's Dictionary to the Dictionary 
of the Academy. 

When men have been used to see a certain assem- 
blage of objects in connection with learning, to imagine 
it attainable by any other process is more difficult, per- 
haps, than you imagine. When Doctor Bell attempted 
to introduce writing upon sand into his school at Calcutta, 
it was opposed by the patrons of the school as a ridicu- 
lous innovation, and not one of the regular instructors 
could be found, who would even aid in making the experi- 
ment; all stack out for the dignity of pot-hooks and goose- 
quills, and this doctor was forced to train a few of his own 
pupils to these new functions ; which gave him the first 
idea of his monitorial system of teaching; We perceive, 
daily, the inefficiency of our present systems and prac- 
tices, but we have been set a-going in a certain direction, 
and we will not depart from it. — It is known, that the 
Athenians were the people of the world who set the 
highest value upon learning, and that they had no uni- 
versities or colleges: and that they obtained a literary 
eminence, which modern nations do not pretend to have 
equaled, without the instrumentality of such institu- 
tions. The profession of teaching, amongst them, was 
left open to the competition of professional ability, and 
the teacher received no salary from government or any 
corporation ; except that the Academy was assigned to 
Plato, as the Lyceum to Aristotle, and the Portico to 
Zeno, in reward of extraordinary services. But the 
teachers of that country were such men as Aristotle, 
Plato, Isocrates, Lysias, Longinus and Plutarch, who, 

VOL. II. — 9 



98 CORPORATIONS OF LEARNING; 

be it said with much respect for the Conssins and the 
Villemains, have had no superiors since their times ; and 
the Lyceum, Academy, and Portico, though private 
schools, and sustained only by the teachers' merits and 
the public patronage, were the noblest institutions of any 
age or country, not excepting the Sorbonne and the 
College de France. 

# The good which these corporate institutions do seems 
to me doubtful, the evil which they do is manifest. I 
will notice one or two instances; and first, the injury 
they inflict upon the common or private schools, which, 
covering a greater surface of instruction, and communi- 
cating the knowledge most useful to mankind, should 
not hold a second place in the public concern. It is a 
rule of all countries not to supply the professorships of 
colleges from the inferior orders of the profession. In 
other pursuits, promotion is the reward of actual ser- 
vices; from lawyers are judges, from sailors, admirals, 
and from cardinals, popes ; but in teaching, the very fact 
of being a teacher acts as a disqualification for any higher 
distinction. But otherwise, the evil is still flagrant ; for 
academical honors lie in so narrow a circle, that a small 
number only can have a hope of reward; and with the 
most impartial choice equal merit at least must be un- 
justly rejected. Such honors are taken from a general 
stock. It is fencing in part of a^common ; employing 
the manure upon one spot, which should fertilize the 
whole field, or it is worse ; for in the exact proportion 
that the professor rises into distinction, the common 
teacher is degraded. The one advances, while the other 
is made to retrograde by the same impetus. Thus in all 
modern nations the least important individual of a com- 
munity is the schoolmaster. Either his talents are not 
called out by any high motives to exertion ; or if his 



THEIR EVILS. 99 

ambition should attempt a rivalry with the institution, 
having its diplomas, titular distinctions, public honors, 
and endowments, and so many things independent of 
professional ability to sustain it, what chance has he of 
success ? — That only of the individual who trades against 
a chartered company; he must expect to be driven from 
the market. On the other hand, the college professor, 
being without a rival, becomes lazy, and inert. Vol- 
taire says, that not one of the French professors, except 
Rollin, have ever written anything worthy of remem- 
brance, whilst in Greece, by far the greatest of the dis- 
tinguished writers had been either public or private in- 
structors. 

Another signal mischief of these schools is, the mul- 
tiplying professional aspirants beyond the necessities of 
the state, and filling the professions with persons not 
competent, by nature, for such pursuits. The ascent to 
literary and professional honors is exceedingly rugged 
in all countries, and always crowded to excess with ad- 
venturers. The brilliant honors, which have attended 
the fortunes of a few persons here, continually lure others 
from their useful employments, to try their luck in the 
great lottery. All are tempted, by a single success, to 
expect the prize ; and the blanks pass for nothing. As 
soon as any trader or mechanic has grown comfortable 
by his industry, instead of raising his sons to his own use- 
ful employment, he resolves that one, at least, shall be a 
gentleman, and therefore sends, generally, the. most lazy 
and stupid to college. The common event is, that the 
young gentleman having acquired, from his college as- 
sociations, ambitious desires, and habits altogether ad- 
verse to ordinary industry, and finding the avenues to 
success shut against his little diligence or abilities, is 
driven to dishonorable expedients for a living ; he turns 



100 THE FRENCH INSTITUTE; 

gambler, or drunkard ; or, at least, if he does not make 
gunpowder to " kill the King of the French/'* he resorts 
to law, or gospel, or medicine, and gleans the stubble for 
a miserable subsistence during a long life (for poor devils 
won't die), or he turns common hack upon the highway 
of letters, and peddles and hucksters all day, for his 
meagre provender at night. — If you think this a cari- 
cature, come and live in the " Latin Quarter," and you 
will find it is a handsome enough likeness. How- 
ever, I do not mean by all this reasoning that you are 
to burn the University of Pennsylvania ; but that a sys- 
tem, which cannot be changed, may be improved; I 
should like to see it confined to the highest possible 
range of studies, so that a smaller number of persons 
may be seduced from their laborious pursuits, and those 
common things, the schoolmasters, may have a wider 
field of duties, and, consequently, a larger share of the 
public consideration, and the dignity of human nature. 
It is silly to talk of the prosperity, especially of a literary 
employment, where honor and profit are not given to 
those who administer its duties. 

I know two or three members of the Institute, who 
will be angry if I should tell you not a word of that 
" bel etablissement." I have read, somewhere, that 
Fulton, having sued the protection of this Institute in 
vain, for a whole year, was afterwards enabled, by an 
individual, called William Pitt, to bring his valuable 
inventions into the service of mankind; which seems to 
import that " forty men" may not have always " de 
Vesprit comme quatre" Such institutions, when estab- 
lished, like the geographical and other societies, for lite- 

* A nest of students has lately been detected in this employment, 
and are now in custody. 



AND ITS MALADMINISTRATION. 101 

nary intercourse and correspondence, are of manifest 
utility ; but when they assume judicial powers, and ac- 
cord the world 

— "just as much wit, 

As Jonson, Fleetwood, Gibber shall think fit;" 

standing between the author and the public; or when 
they become a privileged class, invested with honors, 
which cannot be attained by others of equal merit, I 
am a hardened heretic in all my opinions respecting 
them. I know, moreover, no scheme of patronage that 
secures such academical honors to the most worthy. 
We used to see rejected in the old Academy, such names 
as Helvetius, Moliere, Arnault and Pascal ; and the two 
Rousseaus ; and such as Sismondi and Beranger, in the 
present. Beranger, the poet, the most original and phi- 
losophical, one of the most richly endowed with poetic 
genius of the present age ; " who, under the modest 
title of * Songs/ makes odes worthy the lyre of Pindar, 
and the lute of Anacreon," was refused the vacant place 
of this year, in the Jlcademie des Belles Lett res, and it 
was given to Mr. Somebody, who writes vaudevilles. 
Broussais, who has left an impress upon his age, by his 
genius, was rejected in the " Academie des Sciences" for 
a Monsieur Double — and who knows Mr. Double? 
And Lisfranc, to whom surgery owes more than to any 
living Frenchman, was excluded for a Monsieur Bres- 
chet — and who is Mr. Breschet? I might as well ask 
who, in the " JJcademie de Medecine" are Messrs. 
Bouriat, Chardel, Chereau, Clarion and Cornac* 

* Racine told the Due de Maine, who was anxious for a place at 
the old Academy, that there was no place vacant; but there was no 
member, he said, who would not be glad to die to accommodate him 
■ — " qui ne tint tt grand honneur de mourir, pour lui en fair e une" — and 
Racine said this seriously. 

9* 



1V2 PROFESSORS OF PARIS. 

The students pass their nine years here upon Latin, 
as in America, and by nearly the same processes; that 
is, the children are drilled as with us upon the studies 
of mature age, and improve their memories without 
much troubling the other faculties. A boy, for instance, 
at ten and twelve years, is made to strain after the 
beauties of Cicero and Horace, which are conceivable 
only by a well cultivated manhood ; and in the element- 
ary schools, babies are taught, exactly as in Philadel- 
phia, all the incomprehensible nonsense of the grammars. 
Any child here can tell you why a verb is "active, 
passive, and neuter," and how the action must pass 
from the agent to the object to make it " transitive ;" 
and they study reading and punctuation on the " Beau- 
ties of the Classics," as we do : — " Vital spark" (a com- 
ma,) " Heavejily jlame" (a semi-colon ;) — and the lit- 
tle things are taught to " Hie and Hae," at a public 
examination to please Mrs. Quickly, just as with us. 

Paris is, also, full of instructors, calling themselves 
Professors, who have introduced all the different ways 
of turning dunces into wits, in six lessons, which are 
practised so successfully in Philadelphia ; and they have 
tapestried every street with their " new systems," under 
the very nose of the Minister of Public Instruction. In 
the chamber adjoining mine is a young Englishman, 
just arrived, without French, to a course of medical 
study ; he has taken a master, a venerable and noisy 
old man, who humbly conceives that the whole English 
nation is stupid, because this youth cannot pronounce 
vertu. He made, this morning, fifty persevering efforts, 
each louder than the last, and still it was verthu. The 
old gentleman sat afterwards in my room awhile quite 
meditative, and at length said, in a very feeling man- 
ner : " I believe the English nation is fool !" — I know 



PARISIAN SCHOOLS. 103 

another teacher, an Englishman, who retaliates upon 
the French the violence done his countrymen. He 
begins by dislocating a Frenchman's jaws. His " sys- 
tem" is to commence with the difficulties, and all the 
rest, he says, is "down hill 75 So he has a little book 
of phrases, " made hard for beginners," as follow : " / 
snvff Scotch snuff, my wife snuffs Scotch snuff. 99 — 
11 A lump of red leather, and a red leather lump,'' 9 fyc. 
The scholar, having overcome these preparatory diffi- 
culties, takes up Sterne's Sentimental Journey. It is, he 
says, as one who learns to run, having put on. leaden 
shoes ; when relieved from the weight, he can almost 
fly. — I verily believe that the greatest fools, all over 
the world, are those who communicate knowledge ; as 
the greatest knaves are usually those who teach men to 
be honest. — Je ne sais sije m 9 explique. 

In the Parisian Schools there is at present no corporal 
punishment. The student used to be flogged in these 
same Halls till there were no more birches. — Solomon 
may say what he pleases, I will not have my children 
whipped. The only natural authority for whipping is 
in the parent, and it cannot be safely delegated to ano- 
ther. The discipline here is everywhere good. 

The Professors of Paris are men of the world and mix 
in its pleasures. They have nothing in their air of awk- 
ward timidity, or haughty arrogance, or ridiculous pe- 
dantry—the faults often of those who live apart from 
fashionable society. They are as well bred as if they 
were no scholars at all. And they do not set them up 
here as examples to other men, or make them die, as 
with us, martyrs to virtue, at the rate of five hundred 
dollars a year, and find themselves. — I know several of 
these professors, and one intimately ; he attends to both 
the moral and intellectual improvement of his pupils. 



104 OPINIONS OF AMERICAN SYSTEMS. 

and is most assiduous in his duties. Moreover, he has 
three rooms in different parts of this "Latin Quarter," 
in one of which he has a very pretty little mistress, 
highly cultivated in music and letters; in another he 
resides with his books, and has frequent conversations 
with venerable men about the best systems of education ; 
the third he keeps for occasional adventures. He is 
much esteemed, and would not be less, were I to pub- 
lish his name. 

My opinion is that America has little to learn from 
Europe on the subject of schools; she wants but a wise 
and diligent application of the knowledge she already 
possesses, and which future experience may suggest ; 
she runs at least as much risk of being led astray by 
European errors, as enlightened by European wisdom. 
The better scholarship of Europe is not attributable to 
the better organization of her schools. 

I am aware there are opinions and doctrines in this 
letter which are not orthodox, but you did not ask me 
to write after other men's opinions, but my own. On 
education the sentiments of men are yet unfortunately 
unsettled, and the field is open for speculation. With 
great respect, I remain your very humble servant. 



ladies' boarding schools. 105 



LETTER XVI. 

Ladies' boarding schools —Names of the professors in the prospectus 
— System of education — American schools — Preference for sci- 
ence — High intellectual acquirements not approved — Learned 
women— American girls — Comparison of French and American 
society — The care to preserve female beauty — Expression of the 
mouth — Dress of American women — Notions of the maternal 
character — Studies in ladies' schools — Literary associations — So- 
ciete Geographique — French lady authors — Living writers — Cha- 
teaubriand — Beranger — Lamartine — Victor Hugo — Casimir de la 
Vigne — Alfred de Vigny — Guizot — Thiers — Thierry — Segur — La- 
cretelle — Sismondi. 

Paris, December 25th, 1835. 
I am going, in my usual way, lo write you what has 
most engaged my attention during the last week. I 
have been breaking into ladies' boarding schools, and 
turning and twisting about the school-mistresses, and 
making them explain their plans of education ; which 
they have done very obligingly, leading me through 
their dormitories, refectories, and school-rooms. The 
French women are so kind in showing you anything. 
On the streets I often choose to lose myself a mile or 
two rather than impose upon their little good natures. 
The organization of their schools has nothing different 
from the French boarding schools of Philadelphia. — 
Their elementary branches are the same. Their foreign 
languages are German, English and Italian ; and these 
with drawing, dancing, and needlework, make up the 
programme of studies. Most of the schools are on airy 
situations with large gardens, having baths, and gym- 



106 SYSTEM OF EDUCATION. 

nastic exercises attached. Rewards and punishments 
are as usual ; bulletins of conduct are sent to the parents, 
and public examinations are made to astonish the grand- 
mothers and bring the schools into notoriety. All the 
professors are printed up ostentatiously in the prospectus. 
One is " Danseur de VJicademie Royal de V Opera;" 
another is " Professeur du Chant au Conversatoire ;" 
a " Chevalier de la legion d'honneur" teaches you 
your "pot-hooks ;" and an " Instituteur du due de 
Bordeaux" " de la Reine de Portugal, &?c., your 
parts of speech. In the best schools the annual charge 
for boarding and education, including the foreign lan- 
guages, is about two hundred dollars. Dancing and 
drawing are each three, and the piano six dollars per 
month. 

A French woman is emphatically a social being, and 
prepares herself for this destination. A philosophical 
apparatus is no part of the furniture of her school-room, 
nor does she rashly study Latin, or any of the " Inflam- 
matory branches." But she makes herself well ac- 
quainted with all that is of daily use; her geography, 
history of France, mythology, and the fashionable litera- 
ture, and tries to be very expert in the "use and admin- 
istration" of this learning. She talks of books and their 
authors, especially the drama, of the fine arts, of social 
etiquette, of dress and fashions, and all such common 
topics, better than other women. She studies the graces 
of language, and all the rhetoric of society, as an orator 
that of public life. She learns to speak, not with the 
tongue only, but with the action, gesture, voice, and ex- 
pression, which may give life and magic to her conver- 
sation. You wiil hear her talk of the "jeu de visage" 
and she thinks a woman, who has no variety of face, 
had better have no face at all. I take the liberty of 



AMERICAN FEMALE EDUCATION. 107 

thinking so too; extending only the rule to the whole 
woman, body and soul. What is she after all without 
variety? Anything is better ; a fish without seasoning 
is better. I had almost said that a woman much oftener 
stales the appetite of her husband by uniform goodness, 
than by her caprices and levities. I have found it plea- 
sant, after having a chill, even to have a fever by way of 
variety. And why should not the eloquence of common 
life be quite as important as that of the bar, or senate, 
or pulpit ? since it is of daily use, and the other only- 
occasional, and since much more important interests are 
affected by it. — A French woman does not limit her 
views of education to her maiden years, or to her domes- 
tic and nursery duties, not being destined to be imprison- 
ed by her husband, or devoured by her own children; 
nor to her marriage settlement ; for this is the business 
of her mother; her aim is to prepare the qualifications 
of womanhood ; and her ambition is not to win the un- 
bearded admiration of boys, for her intercourse is to be 
with men, competent, from taste and understanding, to 
judge of her acquirements, as wel! as to add something 
to the polish of her mind, by their manners and conver- 
sation. But the taste of gentlemen here, even of the 
learned, seeks not so much science in a lady as a certain 
knack in conversation, which may give a good grace to 
all that she says. 

In our American schools science has taken precedence 
everywhere of letters; it has not only the principal seats 
at the universities, but in our best female academies is 
thought to be the most exalted and necessary kind of 
knowledge. It is so interesting to see. a young miss ex- 
pert at her sines and tangents ; and presiding over a 
cabinet of minerals. Why, a New England lady ana- 
lyzes the atmosphere and gossips hydraulics at her tea- 



108 EDUCATION TOO SCIENTIFIC. 

table. I have been puzzled there upon theories of geo- 
logy, meteorology, at a wedding. " Sir, this- is a trap 
formation, the angle seventeen minutes and three 
seconds." — I do not mean to depreciate this kind of 
learning, but 1 would not make it the principal object 
of a gentleman's, much less, a lady's education. Cal- 
culations of science have little to do with the affections ; 
they exercise only the mechanism of the understanding ; 
and leave the imaginative power— the power which 
adorns and illustrates by images — unemployed; and the 
mind, under a mathematical training, becomes too sys- 
tematic for the irregularity of human affairs. The par- 
tiality for science prevails in gentlemen's education, also 
in Europe. The chief professorships of the colleges are 
scientific, and in the Institute, the Academy of Sciences, 
like Aaron's rod, has swallowed up all the rest. But in 
the female schools such inquiries are postponed, at least, 
to the ornamental and agreeable. A French lady is of 
the romantic school and thinks the classic too severe for 
feminine charms. Therefore, all studies which do not 
supply the materials of daily conversation, and have no 
immediate connection with some purpose of her social 
existence are rejected from the general plan of female 
instruction. 

Acquirements highly intellectual in a lady are not 
much approved by the French tutors and others with 
whom I have conversed. They think them dangerous 
to her domestic qualities. A Parisian lady living continu- 
ally in society, having such accomplishments, would 
become too much the property of the other sex. Be- 
sides, such an education, they say, made Madame de 
Stael a libertine, Madame Centlivre and two or three 
more, smutty, and Madame Montague a sloven and 
something else, and so they run on. One might ask 



LEARNED WOMEN. 109 

them in return what it made of Madame Barbauld, 
Hamilton, Porter, Edgeworth, Hemans, and that good 
old blue-stocking saint, Hannah More. It is true that 
learning is more attractive, and will always be more 
courted and flattered than even beauty ; and in this sense 
it is dangerous. The Greeks gave Minerva a shield, 
and turned Venus loose without one ; it was apparently 
for this reason. Learning in France studies always 
books and the world together; the "Blue Stocking" is 
not known here, nor is there any equivalent term in the 
language. The "Precieuse Ridicule" is of a different 
character. So at least the learned woman has not to 
dread this opprobrious designation, which so terrifies 
ladies in some other countries. I know one, not of the 
Tuileries, but the Colleries, who, under the awful appre- 
hension of Blue Stockingism, almost repents of her 
learning; hides her Virgil, and disowns her Horace alto- 
gether. There are places where ladies think proper to 
apologize for their virtues and ask pardon for being in 
the right. A French lady is not afraid to show her pos- 
sessions. She shows her learning, and knows how to 
show it without affectation. She displays it as her pretty 
foot and ankle ; she does not pull up her clothes ex- 
pressly for the purpose. As for me I love a learned 
woman, even in her blue stockings ; and without them I 
love her to idolatry ; — I mean a reasonable idolatry, 
which leads to a higher reverence for the Creator from 
an admiration of his best works. One of the grand 
purposes of a French woman is to seem natural ; and, 
indeed, if a lady is natural, even her singularities add to 
her perfections, whilst affectation makes even her sense 
and beauty insipid and ridiculous. 

I talked with one of these mistresses about you 
American girls. She says you come too soon into the 

VOL. II. — 10 



110 FRENCH WOMEN. 

world, and take too many liberties when in it. This, 
she thinks, interferes with education, and awakens in- 
clinations and passions which had better sleep until the 
girls have grown up. She says that tender plants should 
be kept a long while in the nursery ; that to play well 
in the concert one must play well at home, and that the 
whole of youth is even too little for acquirement. 
"These young ladies, you see, are not unhappy from 
the restraints they undergo ; and they are not less ac- 
complished, I assure you. N By coming sooner into 
society, they would acquire a bad tone, a bad manner, 
a bad air, which a mature age and judgment might be 
unable to correct. In a word, sir, a young lady below 
eighteen sees enough of the world over her mother's 
shoulders." So talked this impertinent little woman. 

A French woman has no attentions from society, 
while a girl, and consequently no wit till she is married; 
exactly the period at which American ladies generally 
lose theirs. A smile and a few timid glances under the 
wing of her beautiful mamma, is all the little thing 
dares venture. But the American girl has the reins of 
her conduct a good deal in her own hands, and therefore 
grows prudent ; she has her reason and judgment sooner 
developed. She has all the serpentine wisdom and 
columbine innocence so recommended in the Scriptures 
in her looks and actions. I feel, my^dear sisters, all the 
admiration and respect which are due to you, but with 
my utmost efforts 1 cannot help falling a little in love 
with this innocent indiscretion of the French. 

It would have puzzled the evil spirit more to tempt 
Eve after the fall than before it ; yet I like her in the 
first state better. Their not coming into the world 
before their full time, I like also well enough. My 
tastes are not girlish. The eye indeed reposes with 



PHYSIOGNOMY. Ill 

delight upon the green corn, but the ripened ear is 
better, I know, indeed, all the sweetness which a fine 

day pours out upon Chestnut street ; but 1 like 

better your mothers. They who give tone to society 
should have maturity of mind ; they should have re- 
finement of taste, which is a quality of experience and 
age. As long as college beaux and boarding school 
misses take the lead, it must be an insipid society in 
whatever community it may exist. 

Middle age in this country never loses its sovereignty, 
nor does old age lose its respect ; and this respect, with 
the enjoyments which accompany it, keeps the world 
young. It turns the clouds into drapery, and gilds 
them with its sunshine ; which presents as fine a pros- 
pect as the clear and starry heavens. Even time 
seems to fall in with the general observance. I know 
French women who retain to forty-five and often 
beyond that age the most agreeable attractions of their 
sex. — Is it not villainous in your Quakerships of Phila- 
delphia to lay us, before we have lived half our time 
out, upon the shelf? Some of our native tribes, more 
merciful, eat the old folks out of the way. — Don't be 
mad ; you will one day be as old as your mothers. 

An important item here in a lady's studies (and it 
should be a leading branch of education everywhere) 
is her beauty. Sentiment and Health being the two 
chief ingredients and efficient causes of this quality, 
have each its proper degree of cultivation. Every- 
body knows that the expression of the eye, that the 
voice, that the whole physiognomy, is modified by the 
thoughts or passions habitually entertained in the mind. 
Every one sees their effects upon the face of the phi- 
losopher and the idiot ; upon that of the generous man 
and the niggard; but how few have considered that 



112 PHYSIOGNOMY. 

not only is this outward and visible expression nothing 
but the reflection of the mind, but that the very features 
are in a material degree modeled by its sensations. 
Give, for example, any woman a habit of self-compla- 
cency, and she will have a little pursed up mouth; or 
give her a prying and busy disposition, and you will 
give her a straight onward nose. What gives the 
miser a mouth mean and contracted, or the open-hearted 
man his large mouth, but the habitual series of thoughts 
with which they are conversant ? Determination stiffens 
the upper lip, and this is the lip of a resolute man. 
Peevish women and churls have thin lips ; and good 
humor, or a generous feeling, Or a habit of persuasion, 
rounds them into beauty. I have read that it was 
common amongst the rakes about Charles the Second 
to have "sleepy, half-shut, sly and meretricious eyes," 
and that this kind of eyes became fashionable at court. 
And even in the paintings of the time, 

"Lely on animated canvas stole 
The sleepy eye that spoke the melting soul." 

So every feature has its class of sensations by which 
it is modified ; and this is not forgotten in the education 
of the Parisian young ladies. They take care that, 
while young and tender, they may cherish honest 
amiable feelings, if for no other reason, that they may 
have an amiable expression of countenance — that they 
may have Greek noses, pouting lips, and the other 
constituents of beauty. 

Our climate is noted for three eminent qualities, ex- 
treme heat and cold, and extreme suddenness of change. 
If a lady has bad teeth, or a bad complexion, she 
blames it conveniently upon this climate ; if her beauty, 
like a tender flower, fades before noon, it is the climate; 



MODES OF DRESS. 113 

if she has a bad temper or even a snub nose, still it is 
the climate. But our climate is active and intellectual, 
especially in winter, and in all seasons more pure and 
transparent than these inky skies of Europe. It sustains 
the infancy of beauty, and why not its maturity ? it 
spares the bud, and why not the opened blossom of the 
ripened fruit? Our negroes are perfect in teeth, and 
why not the whites? — The chief preservative of beauty 
in any country is health, and there is no place in which 
this great interest is so little attended to as in America. 
To be sensible of this you must visit Europe. You 
must see the deep-bosomed maids of England upon the 
Place Vendome, and the Rue Castiglione. There you 
will see no pinched and mean-looking shoulders over- 
looking the plumpness and round sufficiency of a luxu- 
riant tournure \ the account is balanced, however gross 
the amount. As for the French women a constant 
attention to the quantity and quality of their food is an 
article of their faith ; and bathing and exercise are as 
regular as their meals. When children they play abroad 
in their gardens ; they have their gymnastic exercises in 
their schools, and their dancing and other social amuse- 
ments keep up a healthful temperament throughout 
life. Besides, a young lady here does not put her 
waist in the inquisition. Fashion, usually insane, and 
an enemy to health, has grown sensible in this; she re- 
gards a very small waist as a defect, and points to the 
Venus de Medicis, who stands out boldly in the Tui- 
leries, in vindication and testimony of the human shapes ; 
and now among ladies of good breeding, a waist which 
cannot dispense with tight lacing is thought not worth 
the mantuamaker's bill — not worth the squeezing. 
When I left America, the more a woman looked like an 
hour-glass, like two funnels or two extinguishers con- 

10* 



114 NOTIONS OF THE MATERNAL CHARACTER. 

verging, the more she was pretty ; and the waist in 
esteem by the cockney curiosity of the town, was one 
you would pinch between thumb and finger ; giving her 
a withered complexion, bloated legs, consumptive lungs 
and rickety children. — If this is not reformed, alas the 
republic! — A French woman's beauty, such as it is, 
lasts her her lifetime, by the care she takes of it. Her 
limbs are vigorous, her bosom well developed, her 
colors healthy, and she has a greater moral courage, and 
is a hundred times better fitted to dashing enterprizes, 
than the women of our cities. 

The motherly virtues of our women, so eulogized 
by foreigners, are not entitled to unqualified praise. 
There is, indeed, no country in which maternal care is so 
assiduous; but also there is none in which examples 
of injudicious tenderness are so frequent. If a mother 
has eight or nine children (the American number) and 
wears out her life with the cares of nursing them, dies, 
and leaves them to a stepmother, she is not entitled to 
any praise but at the expense of her judgment and 
common sense ; and this is one of our daily occurrences 
in America. — If a mother should squander away upon 
the infancy of her child, all that health and care which 
are so necessary to its youth and adolescence, or if, by 
anticipating its wants, she destroys its sense of gratitude, 
and her own authority, and impairs its constitution and 
temper by indiscreet indulgences — instead of being the 
most tender, she is the most cruel of all mothers — this 
happens commonly in all countries, and in none so much 
as America. — If a mother should toil thirty years, and 
kill herself with cares, to procure for her son the 
glorious privilege of doing nothing, perhaps the means 
of being a rake and prodigal, she is a stupid mother, 
and such mothers — But ■ I forget I have a repu- 



PRAISE OF FEMALE EDUCATION. 115 

tation all the way from Mahantongo street to Adam 
street, and I must take care how I lose it. Do you be 
a good little mother, and economize your health and 
good looks; and remember that a little judicious hard 
fare and exposure will not injure your children's happi- 
ness, and that not the quantity, so much as the quality 
of your maternal cares is useful and commendable. I 
do not preach rebellion, but if I were anybody's wife, 
and he should insist on killing me off for the benefit of 
his children, or to get a new wife — I should insist parti- 
cularly on not being killed. 

The system of ladies' schools here, is more reasonable 
than that of their worse halves. There is a better adapt- 
ation of studies to the capacity and future destination 
of the scholars, and to the uses of society ; and being 
open to a fair competition, and to public patronage 
only, there is a better management of the details. The 
gentlemen's colleges engross all the higher branches, 
and give them a specific direction, embracing only three 
or four of the employments of society, and these are, 
consequently, so overstocked, as to make success in 
them no better than a lottery. The community is, 
therefore, filled with a multitude of idlers, who, falling 
often into desperate circumstances, either plot some trea- 
son against the state, or prowl, for a thievish subsistence, 
about the gambling houses. — His Most Christian Majesty 
must have as many lives as a cat to escape them. 

There are, also, in Paris a great many literary asso- 
ciations, to which ladies have access; and this gives 
the opportunity to a decorous intercourse of the sexes, 
which serves to elevate both in the eyes of each other. 
Woman associated with man in his intellectual, as in 
his domestic pursuits, assumes the station, which by 
nature, as by the rules of every polished and literary 



116 LITERARY SOCIETIES. 

society, she is entitled to. These societies furnish 
agreeable entertainments for Sundays, or holidays; and 
they have the good effect of introducing the Muses, 
naturally awkward, into company, and making them 
acquainted a little with the Graces. I attended, a Sun- 
day ago, a meeting of one of these, the "Societe Poly- 
technique" in the great saloon of the Hotel de Ville. 
At the one end was an elevated platform, and mounted 
upon it was a President and the usual apparatus of a 
meeting. Along each side were arranged the readers 
and orators, and distinguished guests. After a " Rap- 
port/ 7 read by the secretary, of the doings of the society, 
the speakers recited pieces of their own composition — 
some in rhyme, and many without rhyme or reason. 
Some were designed to make us laugh, and others cry, 
cirid we did both with great acclamations. — Music closed 
the Scene; a duo by u Italian Artists," and some one 
screamed a song on the piano. It is one of the advan- 
tages of a large city, that its meetings never want the 
dignity of a crowd, whatever be the occasion. — The 
bishop has his at Notre Dame, and Punch his at the 
Champs Elysees. 

I have been, also, to the " Societe Geographique." 
There were Captain Ross, from the North Pole, and— - 
what remains of him from American bugs and mosqui- 
toes? — Captain Hall, and Baron Humboldt, and other 
barons. An honorary badge of the society was pre- 
sented to Captain Ross, with warm acclamation. I 
waited to the very end, for a lecture announced in the 
bill about— what do you think? — the " Beaux Arts en 
Amerique" — But it was all about negroes and squaws, 
and such " copper fronts as Pocahontas." It gave a 
history, circumstantially, of a great crusade of catguts, got 
up in Paris, a dozen of years ago, for Brazil, which 



ECOLE ORTHOPEDIQUE. 1 17 

scraped an acquaintance with Don Pedro, and spread 
the gamut all over Patagonia. Polyphemus threw 
away his pipe, and sang nothing but " Tanti Pulpitis" 
to his sheep, and the sheep bleated nothing but mamma 
mias,'va reply. — " Jlinsi, Messieurs, (this is the ending,) 
cet immense progres est du a la Grande Nation, dont 
nous nous honorons d'etre une humble par tie" From 
the " rapport" of this " societe," it seems to be a most 
valuable institution. The topics are various and useful, 
and its researches are carried by correspondence into 
every corner of the earth. 

I must say a word of a school I visited this morning 
called the " Ecole Orthopedique" to correct physical 
deformities, and slovenly habits. Here all that is gross 
in human nature is refined, all that is crooked is re- 
formed. There are as many branches as at the univer- 
sity. One professor ties strings a foot long about your 
ankles, to prevent too much stride, and another " straight- 
ens legs for both sexes." Angular knees, and stoop 
shoulders, and such little freaks, are affairs of a fortnight. 
I have seen with my own eyes a girl whose face, they 
say, was running one way and her feet the other ; people 
walking after her were continually treading on her 
toes, and in less than six months she has been turned 
round. The highest chair in this school is for teaching 
" sitting" — it is occupied by the President. There is also 
a chair " for walking," and one " for standing still." In 
some countries these are thought mere simple opera- 
tions to be performed by any one who has wherewith 
to stand or sit upon. 

Let me now introduce you to the French lady 
authors. The family is so small I shall happily have 
room for them on the rest of this page. The Dowager 
on the list is the Duchesse d'Abrantes with her Memoirs ; 



118 FRENCH LADY AUTHORS. 

and next her the Princesse de Salm, who wrote an 
"Opera of Sappho" and "Poetical Epistles," very good 
for a princess ; also a work called Vingt quaire heures 
d'une femme sensible, in which there is a display of 
rich and brilliant fancy. I never read it. Madame 
Tastu wrote a volume of little poetry very much loved 
for its tenderness, and Mademoiselle Delphine Gay 
(now Madame Girardin) also a volume of miscellaneous 
poetry, very pretty and delicate, and she is almost a 
Corinne for extemporizing ; last of all, the exquisite 
Baroness Da Devant (George Sand) : the most smutty 
little woman in all Paris, who has written novels full of 
genius, and fit almost to stand along side of Aphra 
Behn's and Mary Montague's verses. When they pub- 
lish an edition, with little * * in usum Delphini, I will 
send you a copy. I shall perhaps have room also for 
the gentlemen. 

The patriarch is Chateaubriand. It is idle to talk 
about him. He sold the copyright of his works for 
twenty years only at five hundred and fifty thousand 
francs. Who has not read his Genie du Christianisme, 
Martyrs, Journey to Jerusalem, Amerique Sauvage, 
Atala, &c? He has written also "Memoirs of his own 
Times," not to be published till his death. Every one 
is anxious to read them. The oldest of the poets is 
Beranger. His songs are worthy of Pindar in bold- 
ness and sublimity, and not unworthy of Anacreon in 
liveliness and grace. I have room only for four verses : 
— Napoleon in his glory : 

— dans sa fortune altiere, 



Se fit un jeu des sceptres, et des lois ; 

Et de ses pieds on pent voir la poussiere, 

Empreinte encore sur le bandeau des rois. 



LAMARTINE. 119 

At his death : 

II dort enfin, ce boulet invincible 
Qui fracassa vingt trones a la fois ! 

Another special favorite, the poet of romance and 
melancholy, is Lamartine. He has written " Medita- 
tions;" also La Mort de Socrate, and the last canto of 
"Childe Harold." Here are eight of his lines. — The 
" Golfe de Baia." 



O, de la Liberie vielle et sainte patrie ! 
Terre autrefois feconde en sublime vertus! 
Sous d'indignes Caesars, maintenant asservie, 
Ton empire est tombe ! tes heros ne sont plus ! 

Mais dans ton sein l'ame aggrandie, 
Croit sur leurs monuments respirer leur genie, 
Comme on respire, encore dans un temple aboli, 

La majeste du Dieu dont il etait rempli. 

He now makes eloquent speeches in the Chamber of 
Deputies. Politics run away with all the genius, and 
rob even the schools of their professors. Only think of 
such a man as Arago prating radicalism in the Chamber 
of Deputies. The Muses weep over his and Lamar- 
tine's infidelity. 

I have read Victor Hugo lately, and love him and 
hate him. Like our mocking-bird he mingles the notes 
of the nightingale with the cacklings of the hen. But 
I must not abuse him, the ladies all love him so. Only 
think of " Bug Jargfl" the " Dernier jour d'un Con- 
damne" ;" and above all, Notre Dame de Paris; and 
think only of poor little Esmeralda, put so tragically to 
death on the Place de Greve in spite of her little goat 
Djali, and her little shoe. — I have read his tragedies, 
Hernani, Le Roi s' 'amuse, and Marie Tudor; parbleu ! 
and " Lucrece Borgia" His poetic works are Les 



120 VICTOR HUGO. DE VIGNY. 

Orient alles ; a collection of odes ; Les Feuilles d'Jlu- 
toMne, fyc. 

Victor Hugo is yet in the full tide of youth, and so is 
Casimir de la Vigne. The latter represents to-night at 
the Theatre Frangais, his Don Carlos ; he has already 
reaped much glory from his Vepres Siciliennes, Paria, 
Comedienne, and Ecole des Vieillards, and still greater 
from his Poetic Lamentations, the Messenienes, which 
are full of patriotic sentiment, expressed in the richest 
graces of poetry. 

Alfred de Vigny has written a pretty poem, the Fri- 
gate, and two biblical pieces, Moise, and the Femme 
Adulter e ; but his great praise is Cinq Mars, one of 
the best compositions of the French historical romance. 
—-Scribe, Picard, and Duval have written so many 
vaudevilles that one has a surfeit of their names. Du- 
mas is a dramatic writer of first rate merit for these 
days. His Antony, Therese, Henry V., and Catharine 
Howard, are all played with success. Jule Janin has 
a great fund of wit; his Ane Mort, Femme Guil- 
lotinee, Chemin de Travers, you can read with the 
surety of being pleased. I have said nothing of Le- 
2 clercq, Langon, Balsac, Meremy, and Lacroix, who have i: 
all their share of admiration, especially from the fair 
sex. 

When the vapors have smothered the sun, and when 
it rains, as it does always, instead of inhaling charcoal 
or leaping from the Pont Neuf, I go into a "cabinet 
de lecture," and read Paul de Kock. No author living 
can carry one so laughingly through a wet day. If you 
are fond of the genuine wit and smut of low life, not 
Fielding, nor Smollett, nor Pigault Lebrun will disgust 
you with Paul de Kock. But here comes the end of my 
paper; what shall I do with the rest ? I will just string 






PAUL DE KOCK. 121 

them together by the gills. — Give Guizot credit for a 
History de la Civilisation, a translation of Gibbon, and 
a score or two of volumes on the English Revolution ; 
Mignet and Thiers for a History of the French Revo- 
lution, and Barante for his Dukes of Burgundy ; Sis- 
mondi for a History of the Italian Republics, of the 
French, and the Literature of the South ; and Daru of 
Venice ; Thierry of the Conquest of England ; Cape- 
figue the Reform; Lacretelle, the 18th Century; Segar, 
a Universal History ; Michaud, of the Crusades ; De- 
laure, of Paris ; Michelet of Rome, and Precis de V His- 
toire de France. Coufsin has written the Philosophy 
of History ; Keratry, Metaphysics, and Novels; and 
Villemain, Melanges de Litterature, and M. de la Men- 
nais is praised for his " Indifference in matters of Reli- 
gion." — The French were strangely deficient in history 
before the present century, not even having furnished a 
good history of their own country ; they have now sup- 
plied their deficiency in this department of letters. — Now 
with all due respect, and a full sense of the distinction, 
I place myself at the bottom of this illustrious group. 
Your obedient, humble servant. 



VOL. II.— 11 



122 THE THEATRE. 



LETTER XVII. 

The theatres — Mademoiselle Mars— Theatre Royal — Italien — Grisi — 
Academie Royal de Musique — Taglioni — Miss Fanny Elssler — The 
Varietes — The Odeon — Mademoiselle George — Hamlet — Republi- 
can spirit of the age — Character of the French stage — Machinery 
of the drama — The Claqueurs— Supply of new pieces — The Vau- 
devillists — M. Scribe — The diorama — Concerts — Music. 

Paris, December, 1835. 

I will treat you this evening to the play. The bill 
of fare is the Theatre Francaise, Opera Frangaise, 
Italien, Opera Comique, Gymnase, Vaudeville, Vari&- 
tes, Gaite, JLmhigu and Palais Royal, with twice as 
many more which we will reserve for the side dishes 
and the dessert. 

The Post has brought me a letter from your mother, 
of November, which I have just read, and could not 
help laughing at the vanity of her fears. My morals 
indeed ! fortified as they are by the good breeding I had 
from my Scotch grandmother and Presbyterian cate- 
chism. I went last night to the play, and saw there a 
great many Sins, which came in their usual shape- of 
pretty women to tempt Saint Anthony. They danced 
about him, and enticed him with voluptuous smiles and 
looks, and even set themselves at last to turn somersets 
to overcome his virtue, but he stuck fast to the faith. 
So do I. — I should like to see all the pretty women of 
Paris come to tempt me. If it had not been for your 
mother's letter and St. Anthony, I should not have 
thought of the theatre this evening. 



MADEMOISELLE MARS. 123 

What say you to the " Frangaise" and Mademoiselle 
Mars?- — Mademoiselle Mars ! why she was an old thing 
twenty years ago ; and acts yet all the charms and 
graces of the most amiable youth. Time flutters by and 
scarce breathes upon her with his wings ; he is loth to 
set his mark upon a face which every one loves so. 
Why, what is younger than her voice? It is clear as 
the whistlings of the nightingale, or it is soft and mellow 
as the notes of the woodthrush ; or if she pleases, it is 
wild as the song of the whip-poor-will, and savage as 
the scream of the bald eagle. In gesture and the dra- 
matic graces she is no longer subject to rules, but, like 
Horner, gives rules to all others of her art. When you 
have looked upon her divine countenance, so expressive 
of the seriousness of age, or the vivacity of youth; when 
you have listened to her sweet and honeyed sentences, 
you will say, what praise can be exaggerated of such 
an actress ? Moliere could not have had a proper con- 
ception of his own genius, not having seen Mademoiselle 
Mars. What a crowding and squeezing we shall have 
for a place ! I have bought this privilege often by more 
than two hours' attendance. Lady Mars is more chary 
of her favors now than in her greenest age. Like the 
old Sibyl, she sets a higher value upon her remnants 
than upon the whole piece. 

This theatre, with its three tiers of boxes, and two of 
galleries, contains 1500 persons. It is called the " Thea- 
tre Royal," and is very disposed to exercise its royalty 
despotically. It forbids the representation of tragedy at 
the other theatres, and has a claim upon every Hive of 
the Conservatory ; which claim it does not fail to assert 
as often as any one is likely to attain celebrity else- 
where ; and its old actors having a monopoly of the choice 
parts, it prevents easily the advancement of the new 



124 THEATRE ROYAL. 

aspirants, and weakens the rivalship of the other houses. 
Its distinguished actors, besides Mars, are Plessy, Cham- 
baud, Dupont and Madame Volnys; its favorite writers 
Delavigne and Hugo.— Scribe, too, being now a member 
of the Institute, and assuming a spirit equal to his new 
dignity, has abjured the ignoble vaudeville, and writes 
only five acts. In the vestibule you will see an admi- 
rable statue of Voltaire with the " sneering devil" in its 
marble features. 

You must go two evenings of the week to the " Ita- 
lien ;" it commences in October. In October, Paris is 
re-peopled with its fashionables, and the weeping coun- 
try is forsaken. This Opera is crowded for the sea- 
son, with the choicest of the Parisian beauty, with all 
the upper sort of folks, as high as the two Miss Prin- 
cesses, and their mammy, the queen. A few evenings 
ago I saw an English woman here, prettier than them 
all ; she, who with so much genius writes tales for the 
New Monthly, and poetry for the annuals— Mrs. Nor- 
ton. I analyzed her elegant features from the pit, and 
wondered how so pretty a woman could write verses. 
Of all the gratifications of Paris this theatre is surely 
the most delectable. 1 went, on her first night, to see 
Signora Grisi, and since this first night she is Grisi to 
me. Her melting voice and lovemaking features live in 
the memory always. While she sings, one is all ear, all 
sense, and intellect is hushed; never did the quiet mid- 
night listen to its nightingale so attentively ; and as the 
last note expires, brava ! brava ! exclaims the inconti- 
nent Frenchman, and a thousand bravas and bravissi- 
mas are repeated through the house : — benedittof 
just breathes the Italian expiring ; che gusto ! pictcer de 
morire! and the unbreathing German goes silently home 
and lives upon her for a week. At the close of the last 



SIGNORA GRISI. 125 

song, and as the curtain threatens to descend, the accla- 
mation bursts into its loudest explosion, and seems for 
a while inextinguishable ; now every one who has a 
white handkerchief waves it, and every one who can buy 
a wreath or a bouquet strews it upon the stage. On 
Saturdays I steal into a third tier towards heaven, and 
there drink the divine harmony, as one thirsty drinks 
the healthful stream; or sit naked under a shower of 
bright eyes in the pit. The present Italian company 
forms a union of talent (so say the best critics of the 
world) such as the world has never seen excelled. La- 
blache explodes as the thunder when it mutters along 
the flinty ribs of the Tuscarora ; Rubini outsings the 
spheres, so almost Tambourini, and almost IvanorT. 
But to thee, black-eyed and languishing Grisi— what 
are they to thee ! 

"Ye common people of the skies, 
What are ye when the sun doth rise 1" 

At the risk of surfeiting you with sweetmeats, I will 
take you next to the grand opera — the Academie Roy ale 
de Musique, where the best music is Taglioni. If you 
have read in your Virgil of that namesake of yours, 
who made no impression on the dust, nor bent the light 
corn, or blade of grass, as she walked upon it ; if you 
have seen a ghost courtesying along the flank of the 
Sharp Mountain, and leaving no trace of its airy feet 
upon the winnowed snows, then you can imagine Tag- 
lioni upon the scene of the grand opera, as she flits along 
the boards, with just gravitation enough to detain her 
upon the earth. — But why absent in the very season of 
her triumphs? — You must content yourself with her 
nearest representative, Miss Fanny Elssler — second only 

11* 



126 ' FANNY ELSSLER. 

in grace, but second to none in anything else. I will 
describe you her performance. She will courtesy to her 
middle, and then rise in a pirouette two yards high. 
This is her preliminary step. She will then set off, and 
skip over the whole area of the stage, lighting on it only 
occasionally trying her limbs, and, as it wer'e, provoking 
the dance from afar, and will present herself to the spec- 
tators in all the variety of human shapes and appear- 
ances. One while you will see her, her " many twin- 
kling feet" suspended in the air, then twirling herself 
around till her face and hips will seem on the same side 
of her ; at last (and this is the very epic strain of the 
performance, and, therefore, the last), she will poise her- 
self upon the extremity of the left toe, and bring the 
right gradually up to the level of the eye, (the house 
will hold its breath !) and then she will give herself a 
rotary movement, continuing it in crescendo till she be- 
comes invisible. — You can no more count her legs than 
the spokes of a rail wagon carrying the President's 
Message. — This is Mademoiselle Elssler. The descrip- 
tion will seem bombast only to those who have not seen 
her ; and to those who have, it will seem tame and ina- 
dequate. 

This letter has a great struggle between prose and 
poetry ; it is like one who is set upon a gallop against 
his will, gets out of breath, and comes panting in, at the 
end of the course. I should have kept Mars, Grisi and 
Taglioni to make an impression in the end — but you can 
begin with the last page, as girls do the new novel. 

I was, last week, induced, by an acquaintance, to go 
to the Varietes. It is a merry theatre, said \\e— u ilpro- 
voque le rire." This is a kind of provocation I have 
had frequent need of, since I came to Paris. If you think 



VARIETES. 127 

there is no place for melancholy amongst these unsrghing . 
French people, you are mistaken. I have sat in this 
Bastile Of a hotel, grave as a bust of Seneca, for a whole 

week, till all the Paris blue devils '— and so I went 

to the Varietes, and saw Frederic Lemaitre in his own 
" Robert Macai're," and, above all, the delightful Jenny 
Vertpres, and was not disappointed. • The French have 
a quick and lively observation, and can dress up a sftnple 
anecdote or Vaudeville,.or a fancy shop at the Palais, 
Royal, with a prettiness no other nation nee.d. attempt to 
rival. There is a general good humor, too, about a 
French audienae which exhibits as much as the play. — 
There were several notable scenes in some of the pi«eces, 
which would be worth telling you, if I had time. There 
was one of a lady who, for some 'misconduct, was sent 
by her husband to bed. Well, she could not go to bed 
with her clothes on, and so she took them off ;— out 
w T ent her pins, (she was quite young, and very hand- 
some,) and then she unlaced her corsets, and then looked 
under the bed ; and then sitting down, she put a leg to 
ride on another, and took off her stockings, and she 
stripped and stripped till there was nothing, (you ought 
to have seen how she was applauded) — there was no- 
thing, except that innermost of .all garments, between 
her and nakedness! and .she gave a very reasonable 

apprehension that she would take that off too ; 

but when I turned my head round again, she had 
jumped into bed. — Nakedness is so innocent here ! In 
a refined city, one gets back to the first chapter of Gene- 
sis ; the extremes meet, and Paradise and Paris get to- 
gether. Now, if any one should run stark mad, and 
exhibit in this abstract way amongst us, people would 
take notice of it. Here it is a matter of total indifference. 



128 ADAM AND EVE.— MADEMOISELLE GEORGE. 

All the ladies of the Boulevards go to bed without a 
candle.* 

It is true that every theatre is not quite so indulgent 
as the Varietes. There was represented, some time ago, 
at the Palais Royal, the first time in any theatre, Adam 
and Eve — en costume: but the spectators were so much 
scandalized at this Calypygian Eve, that both she and 
Adam were hissed. They went so far as to throw balls 
of putty at Adam, and other missiles ; and when Eve 

turned her unaproned side towards them they pelted 

the Mother of mankind with roasted apples ! I did not 
see this outrage, but I had it from a most authentic 
source— a gentleman who sat next to me at the Varietes. 
If you are not frightened at little licenses, this is a de- 
lightful theatre. You will see here Jichard, who both 
sings and acts true comedy; and Tansez, who "looks 
broad nonsense with a stare." Brutus would have liked 
to have such a face when he played the fool at Rome ; 
and, above all, you will see that exquisite rogue, Ma- 
dame Dejaret — she stands always on the utmost verge 
of decency, and sometimes, she puts one foot over alto- 
gether. 

I went to my next neighbor, the Odeon, not long ago, 
where I saw Neron, PEmpereur, et Madame sa mire, 
and Monsieur Britannicus. Mademoiselle George, once 
the delight of the capital and its Rmperor, is yet a well 
timbered and hale old woman. She has in her favor, 
the dignity of fat, and she looks devil enough for 

* I have heard that Joseph Bonaparte, who brought over with him, 
from Europe, a good many Virtues, all chiseled to the quick, for his 
house at Bordentown, was always obliged to put frocks on them, on. 
days of company, for decency. He used to give Charity a fichu ; and 
he says, he never thought of exhibiting Truth to us, without some 
kind of a " chimy" on her. 



FRENCHIFYING FOREIGN AUTHORS. 129 

Agrippina. But the French wear the sock more 

gracefully than the buskin. Their tragic Muse is sub- 
lime always, and, therefore, always ridiculous. She 
puts on a qiCil mourat kind of face, and carries it about 
through the whole five acts. She calls the dogs always 
with the same voice, as when she sees the game. But 
tragedy, it seems, is in her decrepitude all over the 
world ; the sublime is worn out of our nature ; all we 
can do, now-a-days, is to be beautiful. Miss George, 
with a little help from Jinais and Dorval, has been 
lugging the old cripple about Paris, for several years, 
on her own back. Decent comedy has nearly the 
same service, but with more vigor, from Mademoiselle 
Mars. I have got over just in time to see the fag end 
of the two Goddesses. The sterling old plays of Cor- 
neille and Crebillon, which recommended dignity and 
energy of character, are played no more — even upon 
their native scene, the Theatre Frangais. It is not 
even the bon ton to speak much of them, it is provin- 
cial and almost vulgar ; if played at all, it is only to 
revive, a little, the dying embers of Miss George. — I 
have seen played other tragedies, and one notably called 
" Hamlet." I was lured by the name. It is so pleasant 
to meet an old friend in a foreign country ! But, alas ! 
it was not « Hamlet the Dane," but Monsieur Hamlet, 

of the Theatre Frangais. When the French get hold 

of a foreign author, as Shakspeare or Goethe, they 
civilize him a little — Frenchify him. It is not to be ex- 
pected that he should have all the polish and all the 
graces, as if he was brought up in Paris. They chasten 
the music, too, in the same manner ; and M. Hertz, Mu- 
sard & Co. spend whole lives in adapting (as they call 
it) Rossini, Mozart, and other foreigners, to French 
ears. — But. in these light productions, the vaudevilles 



130 INFLUENCE OF THE STAGE. 

which are played at the " Gaiete" and " Varietes," and 
such theatres, and which are the fashion of the day, the 
acting and composition are both perfect. Ligier, BoufTe, 
Armand and Potier, and the ladies Anais, Vertpres, and 
Fay, are no common rate mimics. And there are 
many others of nearly the same merit, seeming all to be 
made expressly for their several parts, in this great farce 
of human littleness. Who was that new comer (a Yan- 
kee) who said, " They wanted to make me believe the 
actors on the, stage were living people, but I wasn't 
such a novice as they took me for ?" It has not been 
a Parisian Theatre that this incredulous man visited. 

I ought to conduct you, but have not time, to some 
of the other theatres — to the Porte St. Martin, where 
Mademoiselle George looks " Lucrece Borgia," and 
where nothing is tolerated less horrible than a rape ; to 
the " Gymnase," which smells of the counting house, 
and Scribe's plays, and where BoufTe plays, as no one 
else can play, his " Gamin de Paris ;" and especially to 
the " Vaudeville" to see the elegant Brohan, the lovely 
Targueil, the sprightly Mayer, the tender Thenard, 
the scape-grace Madame Taigny and the inimitable 
old woman Guillemin, and Lafonl and Arnal — "or to 
the " Opera Comique," where you would hear those 
two mocking-birds Mesdames Damoreau and Lava- 
setir ; and finally, to Franconi's, where you would see 
Madame Something else, on her head on horseback, 
and Auriol on his slack rope — the rest is stupid. I 
have seen them all ; even the Funambules and the 
Marionettes; I have seen Madame Saqui's little show, 
for six pence ; and I have cried over a melo-drama, at 
the " Petit Lazari," for four sous.— — If one comes to 
Paris, one ought to see Paris. This you cannot in the 
domestic circle — the stranger is not admitted there. 



FRENCH ACTING. 131 

And certainly not in public places, for the world no 
more goes thither, in its natural expression and opinions, 
than the fashionable lady in her natural shapes. You 
must look at it in its looking glass. A stage, patronized 
by twenty-five thousand spectators, every night, cannot 
be a very unfaithful representation. 

The dignity of human greatness ; the high born, 
hereditary authority, and lowly reverence, which pro- 
duced strong contrasts of passion with refined and 
elegant manners, have withered away under the Re- 
publican spirit of the age. Kings and lords, and heroes 
are no more held in veneration than Pagan gods; not 
so much ; for these at least are poetical. And from our 
universal reading and the easy intercourse which fol- 
lows, a great man can scarce be got up any more in the 
world; we are as intimate, all, with the imperfections 
of a hero as his valet de chambre. And the mock 
majesty of the stage has lost its respect at the same time. 
Dufresne used to say, " Sirrah, the hour" — to his hair 
dresser; who replied, "My lord, I know not." Made- 
moiselle Clarion kept her train, and equipage, and her 
femme de chambre addressed her as a queen. The 
patronage of a splendid court then excited a spirit of 
emulation among the actors and gave them a sense of 
their dignity, which was sustained by the public feeling. 
To-day the tragic hero lives with the common herd 
undistinguished ; he is not even refused a Christian 
burial when he dies. The world has been used, too, 
since fifty years to gross sensuality and crime beyond 
the example of all former times, and human sympathy 
has been staled by custom ; matrimonial jealousy, 
which held the wolf's bane and the dagger, is now 
either comic or insipid ; a Phaedra excites no disgust, an 
(Edipus inspires no horror. The passions, which sua- 



132 GOVERNMENT PATRONAGE OF THE STAGE. 

tained the deep tragic interest, are quenched ; or they 
have become prurient and emasculate, and require to 
be tickled by a vaudeville. Farce has usurped the 
stage, and the dwarfish imp limps, where tragedy drag- 
ged her flowing robes upon the scene. 

The French, who, before their Revolution, declaimed 
against the murders of the English drama, now out- 
kill all ages and countries. And they who preached 
her unities now violate them all, 

" And snatch you o'er the earth, or through the air, 
To Thebes, to Athens, when they will, or where." 

Rapes and massacres have been the staple of their 
lower plays for many years, and are not uncommon in 
the best. — This taste is on the decline. — The intrigues 
and amours of young girls in Parisian society — are 
almost impossible. Danae was not so guarded in her 
tower, as the unwedded females in Paris. The loves of 
married women are therefore the common plots of the 
French plays, as well as of French novels, and they are 
publicly applauded, as in the ordinary and natural course 
of society. —In our cities, the stage, ill-attended, and not 
sustained by original compositions, must be a faithless 
mirror ; but I have no doubt that in Paris it represents 
the general features correctly. 

Each of the French theatres has its range of pieces 
assigned, and cannot compete with, or injure another. 
Four of the principal ones, the Italian and French Opera, 
Theatre Frangais, and Opera Comique, pay neither rent 
nor license, but have two hundred and sixty thousand 
dollars annually from government. This sum is con- 
tributed from the five and a half millions derived from 
the gambling houses. They make the devil pay his own 
debts. The Opera alone has two hundred thousand 



THE CLACQUEURS. 133 

francs. And we expect in America to support two or 
three, and bring all our performers and fiddlers from 
Europe, on the taste of the community ! A single singer 
may make her fortune in our cities, but a company must 
perish. The annual receipts from all the Parisian thea- 
tres are about one and a half million of dollars. The 
author retains the control of his pieces, and receives from 
the theatres of the capital and provinces, a share of 
every night's performance during life, with a post obit 
of ten years. Scribe's revenue from this source is above 
twenty-five thousand dollars. A five act piece pays the 
author at the "Theatre Francais" one-twelfth. 

There is a great deal of machinery about the French 
drama, which is but little known in countries less ad- 
vanced in the art. For example, each theatre has at- 
tached to it a regular troupe of applauders. These 
were originally got up for occasions, but in the course 
of time they have become as an integral part of the 
corps dra 'm at ique ;— they are called " Clacqueurs" 
(Angiice Clappers.) Their art requires a regular ap- 
prenticeship, as the other branches of a histrionic edu- 
cation, though not a branch at the " Repertoire." A 
person of good capacity may make himself master of it 
in two or three months. They who have taken lessons 
in Clacking under the professors, can clap louder than 
ordinary people, and they know where to clap, which 
is something. They can show also a great deal more 
enthusiasm than if they were really delighted; — as they 
who cry at funerals can cry better than persons who are 
really grieved. On my first visits here I could not help 
remarking how much more feeling was a French than 
an American audience. The Theatre Frangais went 
off in a crash every now and then, which one could hear 
to the Boulevards ; and I could see no great reason for 

VOL. II. — 12 



134 CLACQUEURS THEIR EMPLOYMENT. 

the explosion. On nights of deep tragedy, they bring 
out also the female Clacqueurs. These are taught, one 
to sob, another to feign to wipe away a tear ; and ano- 
ther to scream, when a pistol goes off, and they are dis- 
tributed in different parts of the house. If you see any 
lady fainting on these occasions, don't pick her up, she 
is getting her living by it. 

No piece succeeds, or actor either, unless these sala- 
ried critics are employed. If neglected, they turn out 
among the hisses. Even Talma had to pay to this High 
Chancery his regular tribute. In some of the houses 
there are two rival companies, and the player is obliged 
to bribe both or the rival pack will rise up and bark 
against him. The actor has his regular interviews 
with the chief officer, and they agree beforehand upon 
what parts are to be applauded, with the quality and 
quantity of the applause. " At this passage," says 
Mars, "you must applaud gently, at this a little louder, 
and at this moderately" — Cependant, Madame, tin beau 
sentiment like this « Quoi '! Cependant, Mon- 
sieur. — It is forty years, sir, since I have been playing 
in this house, and no one has dared to say to me { Ce- 
pendant P I tell you, you are to keep your ardor to 
the end of the scene. I have no notion of being blown 
up to heaven in the middle of a passion, and left dan- 
gling two feet in the air at the end of it. Here-is the 
place you are to applaud ; here you may give a clap 
and a brava ; and here (mark well this point !) at this 
finale I must have the whole strength of your company. 
— — Give me your hand, Mr. Gigolard ; here is fifty 
francs, and a little present for your wife. And recollect 
I must have this evening my Grand Entree ; I have 
been absent these three months, and my return requires 
this attention." A Grand Entree is where the actress 



PARTNERSHIP IN VAUDEVILLE. 135 

has a burst of acclamation just at her entrance, which is 
kept up afterwards louder and louder ; she bows and 
they applaud, and there must be a great conflict, be- 
tween joy and gratitude, until she has exhausted a clap 
worth about ten francs. — These Clacqueurs are, on all 
ordinary occasions, arbiters of the fate of a play or the 
actor ; it is only at a new piece and a very full house 
that they are obliged to consult a little the impressions 
of the audience. 

The Parisians require to be fed continually upon, new 
pieces ; and are seldom contented with less than three 
of an evening ; as the epicure prefers several courses, 
and does not throw away a good appetite upon a single 
dish. This has given vogue to their short and piquante 
pieces, the vaudevilles, and produces them several 
hundred new ones each season ; and the manufacture 
of these pieces has become a regular business on a large 
scale. A prime vaudevillist does not pretend to furnish 
his pieces single handed. He has his partners, his clerks, 
and his understrappers. These last are a kind of eir- 
cumforaneous wits, who frequent public places and run 
all over town in search of plots and ideas, or some do- 
mestic scandal of dramatic interest, and they have their 
regular cafes or places of rendezvous, where they work 
to each other's hands. If you have come just green 
from the country and entering a cafe, see a number of 
grave and lean persons seated about at tables, seeming 
entire strangers to one another, and saying not a word 
about Louis Philippe, or the " Proees Monstre," this is 
a cafe of the vaudevillists. They hunt particularly after 
persons, who arrive with some originality from the Pro- 
vinces. In cities men are nearly all cast in the same 
mould ; mixing continually together, there is little de- 
parture from fashionable opinions and expressions. — You 



136 GETTING UP A VAUDEVILLE. 

will see each one with a newspaper, a pencil and a bit of 
paper, reading and commenting. You will see a smile 
sometimes crossing the serious features of the divine man, 
and now and then he will start — he has harpooned an 
idea. Soon after you enter, one will make your acquaint- 
ance, especially, if you have a comic face. He will treat 
you to rum and coffee ; he will offer you the journal, 
point out to you the amusing subjects, and set you a 
talking. And you will be delighted, and you will say, 
not without reason, the Parisians are called the politest 
people upon the earth. They will not let you go until 
they have sucked the last drop of your blood, noted 
down your clownish looks, and airs, copied your fea- 
tures, and robbed you of your very name. At last they 
will make you mad ; for. they must see you under the 
influence of different passions; and if you are impudent, 
they will kick you out of doors. — When you have gone, 
they will very likely quarrel over your spoils — about 
the right of ownership ; and when the dispute is com- 
promised, the most needy will traffic you away for a 
consideration. One will sell one of your bon-mots for 
a lemonade ; and another one of your sheepish looks 
for riz-au-lait, or some more expensive dish, according 
to its dramatic interest and novelty. Some of these men 
keep regular offices, and sell out plots and counterplots 
and bon-mots, as brokers do mortgages and bills of ex- 
change. Others bring their rough materials to the great 
manufactory under which they are employed, and re- 
ceive from Monsieur Scribe or some other master work- 
man, their pay or an interest in the piece proportionate 
to the value of the contribution. I know of one who 
has been living upon the eighth of a vaudeville for 
several years ; and another, who is getting along tole- 



THE T1V0LI; ITS EXHIBITIONS. 137 

rably on a piece of a joke ; being a partner with three 
or four others. 

But you must not be running always to the theatre ; 
there are other amusements which claim a share of 
your attention. At the Tivoli you will find concerts, 
balls and fire works, and you may take an airing every 
fine evening in a balloon. You have only to ride up to 
the Barrilre de Clichy, or it will stop for you at your 
garret window. Besides you have to see the Panora- 
mas, Cosmoramas, Neoramas, Georamas, and the Dio- 
ramas. 

The Diorama is amongst the prettiest things of Paris. 
But how to describe it? — You find yourself seated 
in an immense church, into which you have passed 
through a dark entry ; and whilst you are contemplating 
its august architecture, twilight comes on imperceptibly, 
and you see suddenly around you a full congregation, 
seated, or standing and kneeling, and very intent on 
their prayers ; all which with a little brighter light were 
invisible. You are then regaled with solemn church 
music, and assist at the vespers. It is all enchantment. 
You forget it is day. The voices of men and virgins 
die away in the distant space, like the voices of unearth- 
ly beings. The light returns gradually, the worshipers 
fade away into air, and you are seated as at first in the 
silent and lonely cathedral. You now enter another 
room and a vast prospect of beautiful Swiss scenery is 
opened upon your view, bounded only by the horizon. 
Before you is a lake, and flocks and herds feeding, and 
all the glowing images of a country life. How still the 
atmosphere, and a little hazy and melancholy, as in 
our Indian summer ; you can almost fancy the wood- 
pigeon's moan. In the mean time a storm is brewing 
beyond the distant mountains ; you see the gleams of 

12* 



138 MUSICAL ENTERTAINMENTS. 

the lightning, and hear the muttering of the thunder. 
At length the storm gathers thick around you ; the end 
of a mountain is detached from its base, and the ava- 
lanche covers the lake, the flocks, inhabitants and huts, 
and you are seated amidst the desolation. You are not 
conscious of the presence of any painting ; all is nature 
and reality. 

A few words of the musical entertainment will fill up 
the measure of this sinful letter. There is a rotunda in 
the Champs Elysees devoted to concerts every evening 
from six till nine, through the summer season. Here 
are played the fashionable airs and concertos, and all 
the chef-d'oeuvres of Italian and German masters. The 
little quavers play sometimes softly among the leaves of 
the trees, and now and then pour down like a deluge 
crash upon your ears. There are sixty musicians ; and 
for all this ravishment a gentleman pays twenty sous, 
and a lady half price. In the winter season the whole of 
this music and more takes refuge at Musard's, a central 
part of the city. Here is a large room fitted up bril- 
liantly with lustres and mirrors, with a gallery over 
head and a room adjoining for refreshments. The 
orchestra is in the centre surrounded by seats for the 
audience. There are seats also around the extremities, 
and between is a wide promenade filled every evening 
with visitors all the way from Peru and Pegu ; and with 
any quantity of Parisian fashionables, who come hither 
to squeeze and quiz one another, and see the music. 
Only think of all this refreshment of the ears, and eyes, 
this gratification and improvement of the taste, at twenty 
sous a night ! There is a similar establishment in 
another section of the city ; and these, with the concerts 
of the Conservatory, private concerts, and operas, make 
up the musical entertainments of Paris. 



PARISIAN HABITS. 139 

The French are not naturally a very musical people. 
After all their fuss about a x oy a\ " ^cademie de Mu- 
sique" and their twenty or thirty pupils at the expense 
of government, and sent for the improvement of their 
voices to Rome, they have produced little music. Their 
Boildieu and Auber are the only composers who can 
take seats (and this at some distance) with the Rossinis, 
Mozarts and Webbers. Their great pianists Hertz and 
Kalkbrenner, are Germans; Beriot, the greatest violin, 
is a Belgian ; Lafont only; is French. Their natural 
music, the Troubadour and the rest, has been so wailed 
in the nursery, and so screamed on the theatre, that 
the world is sick of it. A man advertised for a servant 
lately who could not sing "Robin du bois" 



LETTER XVIII. 

Parisian habits — The Chaussee d'Antin — Season of bon-bons— Jour 
de l'An — Commencement of the season — The Carnival—Recep- 
tion at the Tuileries— Lady Granville — The royal family — Court 
ceremonies — Ball at the Hotel de Ville — -French beauty — A Bal 
de Charite — Lord Canterbury — Bulwer — Sir Sydney Smith — The 
Court balls — Splendid scene — -The Princess Amelia— Comparison 
between country and city life. 

Paris, January 25th, 1836. 

As your husband has gallantly allowed me the ex- 
clusive pleasure of writing to you this week, I am going 
to use the privilege in giving you his biography for the 
year 1836. For a wife to judge of her husband's con- 



140 GOOD COFFEE. 

duct from her husband's letters, is absolute folly. — He 
rises at day-break, which occurs in this country, at this 
season, about nine ; he makes his toilet with Parisian 
nicety, breakfasts at eleven, and then attends his con- 
sultations till three. After this hour he runs upon 
errands. Paris covers eight thousand live hundred 
square acres, and he has business at both ends of it; 
and I have to run after him, just as a man's shadow 
would, if people in this country had shadows, a league 
to the east, and then a league to the west, only because 
he don't know a Frenchman calls his mother a mare, 
and a horse a shovel. As he and his partner do not 
comprehend each other, and he cannot communicate, 
with the world out of doors, you may imagine I have 
got myself into a business. And here are all nations of 
the earth to be interpreted, and all sexes ; French, 
Spaniards, Italians, Poles, and modern Greeks. " God's 
life, my lords, I have had to rub up my Latin." One 
might as well have been interpreter at Babel. We dine 
at six, and have all the rest of the day to ourselves. — 
Then comes smoking of Turkish tobacco in a long pipe, 
then a cup of good coffee and the little glass of quirsh; 
and then conversations — conversations, not about burn- 
ing Moscara, and the Bedouin mothers; or whether 
beet sugar should be taxed ; but that which it imports 
more our happiness to know, what vintage is the wine, 
and whether we are to pass the evening at the Italien, 
or Grand Opera. Our host, who is a French gentleman, 
a man of the world, and refined in learning, adds the 
perfume of his wit to the little minutes as they go 
fluttering by. 

Apropos of good coffee, I will tell you how to make 
it. Make it very strong, and then pour out with your 
right hand half a cup, and with your left the milk foam- 



FASHIONABLE QUARTERS. 141 

ing and smoking like Vesuvius upon it. It is reduced 
thus to a proper consistency and complexion, retaining 
its heat. Strange ! that so simple a process should not 
have superseded the premeditated dishwater of our 
American cities. This is the Cafe au lait of the break- 
fast; the coffee of the dinner is without milk. 

At length conversation flags, and we sit each in a 
" Fauteuil," recumbent, and looking silently upon the 
Turkish vapor as it ascends to the upper region of the 
room, till it has obscured the atmosphere in clouds as 
dark as science metaphysic ; and then we sweeten our- 
selves with open air and evening recreations — 

"Vive Henri Quatre! vive ce roi vaillant!" 

And so we stroll, arm in arm, through the Boulevards 
to the "Rue Favart," and there drink down Mademoi- 
selle Grisi until the unwelcome midnight sends us to our 
pillows. This repairs us from the cares of the day, and 
raises us up fresh and vegetated to the duties of to- 
morrow. I must not forget to tell you we live now 
in the Rue Neuve des Maturins, a little east of the 
Boulevards. I was quite disdainful of this unclassic 
ground after so long an abode among the Muses ; but 
this street is more than classic ; it runs right angled into 
the aristocratic Chaussee (PJintin; is full of honor and 
high fare, and ennobled by some of the best Parisian 
blood. Your husband — I suppose by living here, has 
got into the bel air of the French. (I forgot to put a 
dash under his name.) He has his share of Favoris, 
and mustachios, and a coat from Barde's that would 
win the ear of a countess. Barde makes coats for 
"crowned heads," and takes measures at Moscow; — 
and he never ties his cravat— (I mean your husband) 
— just in front, but always a quarter of an inch or so to 



142 SEASON OF BON-BONS. 

the left ; nor sends a lady a red rose, when white roses 
are in the fashion ; and though he speaks nothing yet 
of the French jargon, he makes Paris agreeable to every 
one. Folks to be liked in this country are obliged to 
be amiable — a violent effort sometimes for me. In this 
respect we have an advantage at home ; where poor 
people only are required to have wit, and twenty thou- 
sand a year may be as big a fool as it pleases. 

This is the season of bon-bons. I think I see you 
and little Jack and Sail, parading your littleness upon 
the Boulevards — which, I presume, you will do this time 
next year. Here is the whole animal creation in paste, 
and ah the fine arts in sucre d'orge. You can buy an 
epigram in dough, and a pun in soda-biscuit; a " Con- 
stitutional Charter" all in jumbles; and a " Revolution 
of July" just out of the frying-pan. Or if you love 
American history, here is a United States' frigate two 
inches long, and a belly-gut commodore bombarding 
Paris — (with "shin-plasters;") and the French women 
and children stretching out their little arms, three quarters 
of an inch long, towards Heaven, and supplicating the 
mercy of the victors, in molasses candy. You see also 
a General Jackson, with the head of a hickory nut, with 
a purse, I believe, of " Carraway Comfits," and in a 
great hurry, pouring out the " twenty-five millions," a 
king, a queen, and a royal family, all of plaster of Paris. 
If you step into one of these stores you will see a gentle- 
man in mustachios, whom you will mistake for a noble- 
man, who will ask you " to give yourself the pain to sit 
down," and he will put you up a paper of bon-bons, 
and he will send it home for you, and he will accom- 
pany you to the door, and he will have " the honor to 
salute you," — all for four sous. — But I must get on with 
my biography. 



COMMENCEMENT OF THE SEASON. 143 

We went the first day of the year to the Palace, and 
saw the king and the queen with our own eyes. I 
must tell you all about it. Paris usually comes to town 
three months before this. The gentry and the wood- 
cock and the Italian singers come all in October, and 
every thing runs over with the reflux of the natives 
and the influx of foreigners. Of the latter the greater 
part are English, who, to escape the ignominy of stay- 
ing in London at this season, or being uneasy on their 
seats, (I mean their country seats,) come hither to walk 
in the Rue de la Paix and sleep in the Rue Castiglione ; 
and you will see now and then a knot of American girls, 
who sun themselves upon the Boulevards, or sit in the 
Tuileries, to do mischief with their looks upon bearded 
Frenchmen. But the gayeties at this season only essay 
their little wings ; they do not venture beyond the opera 
and private parties, and a display of black eyes and 
fashionable equipages at the Bois de Boulogne, until 
the close of the year. Then all the sluices are set loose. 
Then magnificent beauty encircles the boxes at the 
opera, decked in all the gems which the "swart Indian 
culls from the green sea," and overlooks the gazing 
deluge of spectators from the pit, and the nut-brown 
maids of Italy and France wave around the ball-room 
in all the swimming voluptuousness of the waltz. Grisi 
warbles more divinely at the Italien, and at the Grand 
Opera more sweetly; Taglioni 

" Twirls her light limbs and her breasts of snow." 

" Due pome acerbe, e pur d'ivorio fatte, 
Vengono e van, come onda al primo margo, 
Quando piacevole aura il ma mar combatte." 

Harlequin now puts on his fustian mantle, and all 
Paris her caps and bells, turning out upon the Boule- 



144 THE CARNIVAL. 

vards, and men and women run wild through the streets 
— this is the Carnival ; which will continue gathering 
force as it goes, till the end of February — as a snow-ball 
upon your Pine-Hill comes down an avalanche into the 
valley. On shrove Tuesday all will be still — operas, 
balls, concerts, fetes, the racket of the fashionable soiree, 
and the orgies of the Carnival will be hushed; and then 
the quiet and social parties will employ the rest of the 
season. My Lord Granville will be " at home" on 
Monday, and the Duchess de Broglie " at home" on 
Saturday; in a word, every one that can afford it will 
be " at home" one evening in the week, receiving and 
entertaining with gayety and simplicity his friends, until 
the dog-star shall send again the idle world to its shady 
retreats of Montmorency and St. Cloud. The first 
drawing-room or " reception" at court on New Year's 
night gives the watch-word, and announces that the 
season of mirth has begun. This is followed by the 
regular court balls, and balls ministerial and diplomatic, 
and the balls of the bankers and other opulent indivi- 
duals bring up the rear. — Now 1 go back to the begin- 
ning of this paragraph. 

We put ourselves in a black suit, in silk stockings 
and pumps and a " clack," with a little military tinsel, 
under the arm ; stepped into a remise (a remise is a 
public carriage disguised as a private one), and in a few 
minutes stood upon the broad steps of the Tuileries ; 
from which we were conducted up into the rooms, 
with no more ceremony than writing our names upon 
a registry in the hall. — The English and French books 
say that we Americans have a great penchant for kings, 
and that we run after nobility and titles more than 
becomes republicans. Whether this be true or not, 
and whether it is really an inclination of human nature 



RECEPTION OF THE TUILERIES. 145 

that, like other passions, will have its way, I do not 
stop to inquire ; with me I declare it to be mere curiosi- 
ty ; I had the same when more of a child for a puppet 
show, without wishing to be " Punch" or " Judy." 
But here I am moralizing again when I should be telling 
you of the " Reception." 

You must imagine a long suite of rooms, and the 
edges all round embroidered with ladies, strung together 
like pearls — ladies dressed in the excess of the toilet, 
and many hundred lustres pouring down a blaze of 
light upon their charms ; and the interior of the rooms 
filled with gentlemen clad in various liveries, mostly 
military — in all you may reckon about four thousand, 
including Dr. C. and me. Here was my Lady Granville 
ambassadress and her Lord ; I love a broad pair of 
shoulders upon a woman — even a little too broad; and 
here was a fair Countess of Comar Plotocka. The 
richest mine that sleeps between your Broad and Sharp 
Mountains would not buy this lady's neck. I have heard 
it valued at three millions. It would make a railroad 
from here to Havre. 1 have half a mind to put in here 
as a note, that we Americans in our citizen coats, and 
other republican simplicities, make no kind of figure at 
a court. When one contemplates brother Jonathan by 
the side of Prince Rousimouski, all gorgeous in the furs 
of the Neva — I can't find any other comparison than 
that character of arithmetic they call zero, for he seems 
of no other use than to give significance to some figure 
that is next to him. It is strange how much human 
dignity is improved by a fashionable wardrobe ; I have 
seen a nobleman spoiled altogether by a few holes in 
his breeches. 

The king, the queen, the princess and princesses 
entered about nine ; they passed slowly round the 
VOL. II. — 13 



146 COURT CEREMONIES. 

rooms, saluting the ladies, saying a few words to each, 
with a gentle inclination of the head, and a proportionate 
jutting out at the head's antipodes: — the latter part of 
the compliment intended for us gentlemen. At the end 
of this fatiguing ceremony the royal family retired, 
bowing to us all in a lump. — I forgot to say that being 
apart in a corner, as a modest maid who sits alone, the 
queen, in passing, dropped me a courtesy for myself. 
When her Majesty bowed to the whole multitude,, the 
honor was wasted by diffusion. To. have one all to 
one's self was very gratifying. They now posted them- 
selves in a room at the south end of the company, 
accessible by two doors, through one of which gentle- 
men were admitted Indian file, and introduced person- 
ally to the king, the king standing on the right, the 
queen on the left of the room, and the little queens in 
the middle. It was an imposing ceremony; and this 
was the manner of the introduction. For example, the 
Doctor entering gave his name and nation to the aid-de 
camp, who pronounced it loud; the king then prit la 
parole, et itn verre d'ean sitcree, de la maniere suivante: 
" You are from Philadelphia, I am glad to see you." — 
And then the Doctor, who had studied his speech in 
the ante-chamber, replied, "Yes." — After this he bowed 
a little to the queen, and walked out with an imperturb- 
able gravity at the left door, as I had just done before 
him. We then went home and told people we had 
spoken to the king. — This is a Reception at the Tuile- 
ries. To give you an account of the other charming 
fetes we have seen this month will require another 
sheet. — The hour is late. I bid you good night. 



BALL AT THE HOTEL DE VILLE. 147 

January 26th. 
The first feie which we partook of was a great ball 
given at the Hotel de Ville, to relieve the poor of the 
" Quartier St. Germain." Here, as every place else, 
where there is a chance of an innocent squeezing, there 
was a crowd. There were two thousand souls, all danc- 
ing in the same room; and the ladies, whom I include 
in the article of souls, were dressed dans Vexces de la 
belle coiffure. The Queen and Madame Adelaide, and 
other such like fine people, who were announced in the 
newspapers, hoaxed us by not coming. However, we 
danced all the poor out of the hospitals. We put on our 
rustling silks that the grisettes might get a blanket for 
their shivering babies, and our dear little prunellas, that 
they might have a pair of sabots, and a little bit of wool 
about their feet in the Faubourg St. Germain. Charity 
affects people in different ways. In Philadelphia it gives 
one a chill, or it sends one with a long face to pray at 
St. Stephen's; here, to "cut pigeon wing" at the Hotel 
de Ville. — Quere, might not one go to heaven altogether 
by dancing, instead of" working it out" in the old way? 
— The bill of fare was only ices, lemonades, and eau 
sucree — no liquors. A Frenchman is always fuddled 
enough with his own animal spirits, and needs no rum. 
In all French parties in high life there is little ceremony 
about eating and drinking ; it is economical to be well 
bred. Dancing is performed in the same monotonous 
dull way as in America. The "pirouettes and entre- 
chats" are a monopoly of the Opera Frangais. English 
gravity was always afraid of being caught cutting a 
caper, and John Bull leads his lady through a dance as 
if conducting her to her pew. The fashion now-a-days 
is anything English, especially English whims and non- 
sense. " They are not dancing, but only walking in their 



148 FASHIONS IN DRESS. FRENCH BEAUTY. 

sleep/' is a bon mot of his Majesty, who is not much 
addicted to wit — better he was ; Fieschi would never 
have thought of killing him. But they are better walk- 
ers than we are. They are better dressed, too, though 
with less cost. In our country the same dress suits all 
ladies of the same size, being always made after the last 
doll that came over by the packet, only a little more 
fashionable. And so we are 

" Laced 
From the full bosom to the slender waist, 
Fine by degrees, and beautifully less." 

And some of us 

"Gaunt all at once, and hideously little." 

In Paris a mantuamaker is a bel esprit, and does not 
follow rigidly, but studies to soften a little the tyranny 
and caprices of fashion, and she knows the value of the 
natural appearances in the constitution of beauty. The 
fashions, have, to be sure, their general features, but the 
shades of difference are infinite. The woman and the 
frock, though notindissolubly united, seem made for each 
other. The French lead fashion, we follow it ; their 
genius is brought out by invention ; ours quenched by 
imitation. I looked on upon this ball with all the gaze 
of young astonishment. Staring is an expression of 
countenance you will never see among savages and well- 
bred people ; I am somewhere between the two. Your 
husband dived into the crowd, to try to discover some 
pearl of French beauty; ineffectually. One is at a loss, 
he says, for a temptation. He is so anatomical he would 
like better Helen's skeleton than Helen herself. We 
don't see the same thing in a woman by a great deal — 
or in anything else travelers don't see the same things 



BAL DE CHARITi. 149 

in Paris. Baron Rothschild and Sir Humphrey saw not 
the same thing in a guinea; and how many things did 
not Phidias see in his Venus which you or I will never 
see in it. The French women are nearer ugliness than 
beauty ; but what women in the world can so dispense 
with beauty ? Their cavaliers are handsomer, yet the 
exquisite creatures are loved just the same. I wonder if 
the peacock loves less his hen for the inferiority of her 
plumage, or she him the more for the elegance of his? 
The principal charm of a woman is not in the features ; 
a lesson useful to be learnt. A turn-up nose once over- 
turned the Harem, so says Marmontelle ; Madame Cottin 
was an ugly thiug, and yet killed two of her lovers; 
there are on record the examples of two women with 
only an eye each, who made the conquest of a king ; 
Lavalliere supplanted all her rivals with a crooked foot. 
Ninon was not handsome, but who knows not the num- 
ber of her victims ? Self-flattery and the flatteries of 
admirers spoil pretty women, till at last, like sovereigns, 
they receive your homage as a tribute that is due, and 
enjoins no acknowledgment, and thereby they counter- 
act the influence of their charms. — " But as I was say- 
ing — Pray, my dear what was I saying?" — I will think 
of it to-morrow. 

January 27th. 
I cannot afford to give you all these sweetmeats at a 
single meal ; I must serve you up a small portion for the 
dessert of each day. Ball the second. This was one 
of the most splendid and fashionable of the season, also, 
a bal de charite — given at the theatre Ventadour a few 
nights ago. A great number of Carlist nobles having 
lost their pensions and places, by the disaster of Charles 
X., have become poor, and this was to comfort them 

13* 



150 DISTINGUISHED COMPANY. 

with a little cash. The parterre and stage formed an area 
for the dancing, and an array of mirrors at the furthest 
end doubled to the eye its dimensions and the number 
of dancers. It was a vast surface waving like the sea 
gently troubled ; and the boxes, filled with ladies, ex- 
hibited the usual display of snowy necks, and glittering 
ornaments overhead. The saloon and lobbies too, 
adorned with little groves of shrubbery, had their full 
share of the multitude. Here was the late speaker of 
the Commons, Sutton, now better named for a ball- 
room, my Lord Canterbury, and my Lady Canterbury; 
and here was Bulwer, brother of Bulwer; and Sir Sidney 
Smith and other knights from afar; and all the bel air 
of the Paris fashionables ; not the old swarm of St. Ger- 
main, the Condes and Turennes, the Rochefoucaulds, 
Monteusiers, Beauvilliers and Montespans, but all that 
Paris has now the most elegant and aristocratic. Here 
was Madame la Dnchesse de Guiche, and who can be 
more beautiful? and the Duchesse de Plaisance, airy 
and light as Taglioni, and the prettiest of all Belgian 
ambassadresses Madame la Hon — coiffe & ravir. And 
the night went round in the dance, or in circulating 
through the room, or in sitting retired upon couches 
among the oranges and laurels, where sage philosophy 
looked on, and beauty bound the willing listeners y in 
its spell. The music was loud and most exhilarating. 
In some parts of the house were all the comforts of el- 
bowings, shufflings, crammings, and squeezings, and on 
the outside all the racket that was possible of scream- 
ing women, and wrangling coachmen, from miles of 
carriages through every avenue. Some were arriving 
towards morning, and others have not arrived yet. This 
is the ball of the Ventadour. We reached home just as 
Aurora was opening her curtains with her rosy fingers, 



COURT BALLS. 151 

and we crept into bed. The tickets were at twenty- 
francs; ices, eau d 'orgeat, and eau sucree, were the 
amount of refreshments. 

I have just room for a word of the Court Balls ; and 
they are so much prettier than anything else in the 
world, I am glad they come in last to your notice. 
They are held at the king's palace, the Tuileries ; where 
a long suite of rooms are opened into one, and filled 
with a stream of light so thick and transparent that the 
men and women seem to swim in it as fish in their liquid 
element. Between three and four thousand persons are 
exposed to a single coup d'oeil ; the men gorgeously 
attired in their court dresses ; the women in all the 
sweetness of the toilet. It is impossible to look in here 
without recognizing at once the justice of Parisian 
claims upon the empire of fashion. Here is the throne 
and sceptre of the many-colored goddess; and here 
from every corner of the earth her courtiers come to do 
her homage. 

The king, on entering, repeats nearly the same cere- 
mony as at his " Reception" of the new year, others 
of the royal family following his example. A pair of 
cavaliers at length lead out the two princesses, and the 
ball begins through the whole area of the rooms. To 
see so many persons, elegant and richly attired, at once 
entangled in the dance ; crossing, pursuing and over- 
taking each other; now at rest, now in movement; and 
seeming to have no other movement than that commu- 
nicated by the music; and to see a hundred couples 
twirling around in the waltz, with airy feet that seem 
scarce to kiss the slippery boards; first flushed and pal- 
pitating ; then wearying by degrees, and retiring, to the 
last pair, to the last one — she the most healthful, grace- 
ful and beautiful of the choir, her partner's arm sustain- 



152 ROYAL SUPPER. 

ing her taper waist, foot against foot, knee against knee 5 
in simultaneous movement, turns and turns, till nature at 
length overcome, she languishes, she faints, she dies ! — * 
A scene of such excitement and brilliancy, you will 
easily excuse my modesty for not attempting to describe. 
As an episode to the dancing, there is a supper in the 
Salle de Diane, where you have a chance of seeing 
how royal people eat; with a remote chance of eating 
something yourself. A thousand or more ladies sit 
down, and are served upon the precious metals, or more 
precious porcelain ; the king and princes standing at 
the place of honor, and a file of military-looking gentle- 
men dressed richly, along the flanks of the table. What 
a spectacle! Ladies eating out of gold, and kings to 
wait upon them. I sat opposite the royal ladies, and 
looked particularly at the little Princess Caroline, with 
her pouting lip "as if some bee had stung it newly." 
She just tasted a little of the roast beef, and the fish, 
and the capon and other delicacies of the season ; and 
then a bit of plum-pudding, and some grapes, and 
peaches, and apricots and strawberries ; and then she 
sipped a glass of port, and when her glass was out my 
Lord Granville with great presence of mind filled her 
another; and then she finished off with a little bur- 
gundy, champagne, hermitage, frontignac,bucella, and old 
hock — all which she drank with her own dear little lips. 
These delicate creatures do almost everything else by 
deputy, but eating and drinking, and some other little 
matters, they attend to in propria persona. — After the 
ladies, we gentlemen were admitted, en masse, with not 
a little scrambling ; which was the objectionable part of 
the fete. I was hungry enough to have sold my birth- 
right, but did not taste of anything; it required not 
only physical strength, but effrontery, and I have been 



DANCING. 153 

laboring under the oppressions of modesty all my life. 
Have you ever been to a dinner at the — " White 
House i" that's like the finale of the king's supper in 
the Salle de Diane. 

In my greener days I saw the dance in my native 
Tuscarora, and went to see it twenty miles of a night 
upon a fleet horse, my partner behind, twining around 
my waist her " marriageable arms." I have now seen 
the balls of the French court, which are called the most 
splendid of the world. The difference of dress, of 
graces, and such particulars, how vastly in favor of the 
Tuileries? but as far as I can recollect and judge from 
the outward signs, the enjoyment was as vastly on the 
side of the Tuscarora. — Beauty is of every clime, as of 
every condition. I have seen Alcina's foot upon the 
floors of the Ventadour, and upon a rock of the Juniata, 
and all the varieties of human expression through all 
the ranges of human society. I have seen the humble 
violet upon the hill top, and the saucy lily in the valley. 
As for the pure and rapturous admiration of beauty and 
female accomplishment— alas, I fear it is not the growth 
of the libertine capital. — I am persuaded that to have 
lived much in the country, conversant with natural 
objects, and subject to the privations of a country life, 
is essential to the perfection of the human character, and 
of human enjoyments. In a city the pursuits are frivo- 
lous ; they narrow the mind, and are pernicious to its 
most delightful faculty— the imagination. The passions 
are developed there too early, and worn out by use. — 
The Tuileries lighted with its tapers, and "glittering 
with its golden coats," is beautiful ; the ladies' bright 
eyes, and the pure gems that sparkle upon their snowy 
necks, too, are beautiful. But I have been at the Moon's 
Drawing Room upon your "Two Hills," and have 



154 ' COUNTRY LIFE. 

gathered its pure light from your piny leaves ; the stars 
and heavenly bodies looking on in their court dresses.— 
To walk in the Rue Rivoli as the sun decends towards 
the west, is delightful, and in the Tuileries amidst its 
marble deities, or upon the broad eastern terrace, which 
overlooks its two rows of fashionable belles.— But I 
have walked in the lone valleys of the Shamoken, and 
have seen the Naiads plunge into their fountains, I have 
walked upon the Sharp Mountain top, exhilarated with 
its pure air and liberty, raised above the groveling spe- 
cies, and held communion with the angels— this is more 
delightful still. Numa communed with his Egeria in 
the sacred grove; Minos with his Nymph under the 
low-browed rock, and Moses retired to the mountain to 
converse with the Almighty. The pleasures of a city life 
stale upon the appetite by use ; the delights of the coun- 
try life "bring to their sweetness no satiety." 

I have intended to put you up the whole of the Paris 
Balls in this letter, but the Masquerades remain for ano- 
ther occasion. My time has run out ; the last grain of 
sand is in the dial. Good night. 



EXECUTION OF FIESCHI. 155 



LETTER XIX. 

Execution of Fieschi — The French House of Commons — French 
eloquence — Thiers — Guizot — Berryer — Abuse of America — The 
Chamber of Peers — Interior of the Madelaine — Bribery— False 
oaths — The middle classes — America and England — Opinions of 
America — English travelers in America — Mrs. Trollope — Captain 
Basil Hall — Miss Fanny Kemble — Test of good breeding in Ame- 
rica — American feeling towards England — Their mutual interests. 

Paris, February, 1836. 
The great state criminal Fieschi was executed yester- 
day morning on the Place St. Jacques, with his two 
accomplices Maury and Pepin. He did not care a straw 
for mere dying, but he did not like the style of appearing 
barefooted before so large and respectable a company. 
He made* a speech with as much dignity as could be 
expected in one's shirt tail, and quoted Cicero. This 
fellow has been for a while the hero of the age ; none 
of the French generals can bear a comparison with him ; 
and the dramatic interest given to his trial will no doubt 
produce a good crop of rivals. His behavior was os- 
tentatious, but intrepid to the last. He was none of 
your sneaking scoundrels, who are half honest through 
fear of the gallows. His mistress, Nina Lasave, is show- 
ing herself (what is of her, for she is less by an eye) 
upon the Place de la Bourse, and five thousand at a 
time are crowding to see her at twenty-five cents each. 
Signer Fieschi has not only acquired distinction for him- 
self, but imparted a tincture of this quality to all that he 
has touched. Nina's fortune is made. I wonder if this 



156 FRENCH HANGING. 

sympathy for the mistress of an atrocious murderer 
would be felt anywhere out of Paris ? I went to see 
her with the rest. 

I was guilty (no easy matter in Paris) of an act of 
uncommon foolishness, in going to see this execution. 
The French way is so elegant and classic ; it is none of 
your vulgar hangings on a gibbet, with a fellow creep- 
ing like a spider up the gallows, or the chopping off a 
head upon a block as a butcher does a pig's; the guil- 
lotine is itself a piece of ingenious mechanism, and the 
executioner a gentleman ; he wears white gloves and is 
called " Monsieur de Paris ;" so 1 went with other ama- 
teurs, and I have seen nothing but men without heads 
ever since. 

For a change I went this morning to the Chamber of 
Deputies. Don't you want to know something of this 
great council of the nation ? I shall be glad if you do, 
for I have nothing else of sufficient dignity to come after 
this first paragraph. 

This is the French House of Commons. It has been 
in session since two months, and holds its meetings in 
one of tbe great architectural monuments of the capital, 
the Palais Bourbon. At its entrance you will see four 
colossal statues upon curule seats, Sully, Colbert, Hopital 
and d'Aguesseau. The chamber is lighted from above, 
and is semicircular, having at the centre a tribune just 
in front of the President's Chair, and over head the re- 
porters ; the members are ranged according to their par- 
ties on seats rising in amphitheatre. On the very left, 
or extreme gauche, are the Liberals, and on the right or 
extreme droit, are the extreme Royalists ; the hues of 
each party softening gradually, and blending as they re- 
cede from the extremes. On a gallery over head are 
spectators of both sexes. The reading of speeches 



CHAMBER OF DEPUTIES. — THIERS. 157 

which is common, and mounting the tribune even for a 
short remark, are precautions taken against eloquence. 
I have heard that attempts are often made by several 
persons to speak at once, or to pre-occupy the tribune to 
the great disturbance of the order. Persons are seen 
discoursing generally with great animation, during the 
orator's speech. When there is a little too much noise 
the President taps with his paper-knife on the desk, 
and when a little more he rings a bell; when this fails, 
he puts on his hat. The constant assent or dissent ex- 
pressed at nearly every sentence, seems to me to touch 
upon the ridiculous ; it drives all one's classic notions 
of. a senate out of one's head. It is, perhaps, a neces- 
sary safeguard against being talked to death by some 
stupid and loquacious member ; as happens occasionally 
in other countries. 

The great man of the chamber is, at present, Thiers, 
Minister of the Interior. He is seldom at a loss for 
sense, and never for words ; but neither his face nor 
manner has anything of eloquence ; he is merely a face- 
tious talker, and is nearly as expert at a bon-mot as the 
old prince Talleyrand himself; a kind of merit that 
makes its fortune more readily at Paris than elsewhere. 
He is said also to emulate the great diplomatist in the 
flexibility of his politics ; having the same skill of being 
always of the strong party without compromising his 
principles. In society he is a good actor, and plays with 
grave diplomatists, or with little girls of fifteen, and 
pleases both. Not the least essential of his qualifications 
is a revenue of two or three hundred thousand livres, 
which he has had the discretion to make, the gossiping 
world says, from his position of minister, by gambling 
in the stocks. That censorial tribunal, which is called 
public opinion, and which forces a man in the United 
vol. it. — 14 



158 GUIZOT. 

States, sometimes, to be honest against his will, is scarce 
known in this country. Indeed I have not seen that any 
vice renders a man publicly infamous here, except it be 
giving bad dinners. On the other hand, they have one 
virtue which, I believe, does not exist in the same degree 
amongst the statesmen of other countries ; they are not 
so barefaced as to commend one another's honesty. 
Everybody cries up parts, and poor honesty has not a 
rag to her back. 

Guizot, who is also a minister of something, made a 
speech ethical and pedagogical, about education. He is 
the opposite of Thiers, of a stern and inflexible nature, 
and has an air of solemnity in his face ; you would 
think he had just arrived from the Holy Land. He de- 
composes and analyzes till he is blinded in the smoke of 
his own furnace; he is the great type of the "Doctrin- 
aires." Though he does not throw his wisdom in every 
one's face, he has few equals in facility. After translat- 
ing Gibbon, and writing thirty volumes of English Re- 
volution, he may well claim some praise for this quality. 
He has been for several years a leader ; but I have heard 
he is lately, for I know not which of his virtues, of less 
influence in the House. He and the Doctrinaires have 
the odium of the rigid censorships since a few months 
set up against the Press. The other greatest men are, De 
Broglie, Minister of Foreign Affairs ; Barrot, Maguin, 
and Dupin, the President. The last is ranked amongst 
the most eloquent of the French speakers. I have not 
heard him in anything but the ringing of the bell. But 
the great ornament of the French eloquence at the bar, 
and in the tribune, is Berryer. He has an exceeding 
happy physiognomy ; a broad and high brow, shaded 
with jet black hair ; a bland and persuasive expression 
of the mouth, and his voice is grave and impressive. 



BERRYER. 159 

The French generally impair the strength and dignity 
of their oratory by too much action ; Berryer in this is 
economical and prudent. Though leader en chef of the 
Legitimists, he defended strenuously Cambron and Mar- 
shal Ney. He spoke also against the American Indem- 
nity, and gave us very little reason to be satisfied with 
his eloquence. I must tell you that the great staple of 
conversation here at present is abuse of America, and 
that everything looks warlike. — I heard a member of the 
Deputies say: " There are not ten men in the chamber 
who believe in the justice of your claims ; we have been 
inveigled into the acknowledgment by our king, and 
bullied into it by your President." If you know any 
nice computer of national honesty, you had better get 
him to tell you the difference between the notorious 
rogue who robs his neighbors, and the four hundred and 
fifty-nine rogues who refuse to make restitution of the 
robbery. 

This chamber is composed of men all above the 
middle age — not being eligible below thirty. They 
have a venerable and decent appearance, and for learn- 
ing, I believe they do not suffer in comparison with 
any of the legislative assemblies of Europe. They are 
chosen from thirty millions of people, by two hundred 
and fifty thousand electors, while the English House of 
Commons is selected by near a million of electors, from 
twenty-five millions. Their hours of sitting are from one 
to five o'clock. Spectators are admitted on the written 
order of a member. 

We had a little spurt to-day upon rail-roads and 
steamboats ; in which M. Thiers said there was in the 
United States a reckless disregard of human life ; [a 
prolonged sensation !) and George Lafayette, his Ame- 
rican partialities getting the better of his judgment, got 



160 CHAMBER OF PEERS. BRIBERY. 

up and defended our humanity. He gave himself as an 
example of the possibility of descending the Mississippi 
without being blown up —but nobody believed him; 
(grand moavement dissentient /) 

Since on the subject of Chambers, why not pay a 
visit to the "Chamber of Peers ?" For this you must 
ascend the Seine to the Pont Neuf, and half a mile 
thence towards the south will bring you to the Palace 
of Luxembourg, the place of its sittings. 

I wished a few days ago to see the interior of the 
Madelaine, into which there is no admission ; " not for 
the queen," said the door keeper ; but after a little fuss 
about honesty, and receiving thirty sous, he permitted 
me to go in. In traversing the Luxembourg the same 
day, as I went whistling along, innocent of thought, I 
fell upon the ice against the statue of a goddess. In 
returning to my senses, I found a pair of arms about 
my neck ; it was not the Queen of Love, who had step- 
ped from her pedestal, but a servant maid, who did me 
this service, she said, by order of her'mistress ; and the 
incorruptible little wench refused, either for love or 
money, to tell me her mistress's name. I attempted a 
few days after to enter the Chamber of Peers, and was 
refused by the door-keeper ; but, on placing in his hand 
a few francs, he furnished me the necessary passport— 
What is the reason we find in no country the same 
fidelity from public servants as from those in private 
life ?— This anecdote is to introduce you with proper 
ceremony to the Peers. The etiquette of great houses 
always requires the guests to be detained a reasonable 
time in the ante-chamber. But since I anion the sub- 
ject of bribery and corruption — your agent here, Mr. R.> 
told me in excuse for high commissions, that he had to 
hire witnesses to prove the decease of heirs ; this he 



THE PEERS. 161 

mentioned as a common business transaction. — "And 
did you succeed ?" " Oh, yes, we killed them all off," 
was his reply. I have seen also in Philadelphia, an 
Irish laborer, taken at random from the street, who 
swore before a magistrate, a false oath, for a bribe of 
five dollars. Now if this bribery is so easy in all the 
worlds, Old and New, ask your husband, if you please, 
who makes laws, whether it ought not to suggest to 
the statesman, the impropriety of exacting oaths at all ; 
which do not make the honest man more faithful, and 
certainly make the dishonest more corrupt. 

The Peers have their chamber in the second story of 
this Palace. It is a semicircle on a diameter of eighty 
feet. A beautiful row of Corinthian pillars of veined 
stucco sustains the vault, upon which Lesueur has painted 
the usual number of Virtues, civil and military; and 
between these pillars are statues of the most famous 
ancient orators and statesmen ; Solon, Aristides, Scipio, 
Demosthenes, Cicero, Camillus, Cincinnatus, Cato of 
Utica, Phocion, and Leonidas. The disposition of the 
chairs and benches is the same as in the Chamber of 
Deputies. It is tapestried with blue velvet, wainscotted 
with looking-glasses, and a beautiful lustre descending 
in the centre produces the light of five hundred tapers. 
It is a rich and elegant chamber — a kind of boudoir of 
the French nobility. The staircase which leads to it is 
the most magnificent, they say, of all Europe.— The 
French nobles are either dukes, marquises, counts, vis- 
counts, or barons, and except the members of the royal 
family, and princes of the blood, are titled only for life. 
They sit at the same time as the Deputies, under the 
Presidency of the Chancellor of France. Their concur- 
rence is necessary to all laws, and they try all cases of 
state crimes and high treasons. They have had a long 

14* 



162 THE MIDDLE CLASSES. 

time on hand Fieschi and the never ending " Proces 
Monstre." To set apart a few hundred individuals 
from the great herd, and give them the highest oppor- 
tunities of improvement and polish, would furnish, one 
might suppose, at least a pretty ornament to a na- 
tion. However, it turns out that, in a high degree of 
fortune, men do not submit to the labor necessary to 
intellectual improvement, and that they are exposed to 
more vicious temptations ; that they have less dread of 
public opinion, and are spoilt in temper, by indulgences. 
In a word, we know that human nature does not bear a 
very high degree of refinement. As the taste may be 
rude and uncultivated, so it may be excessively deli- 
cate ; and fastidiousness is almost as disagreeable as 
grossness. But inequalities are an ordinance of nature 
in society, as much as in the structure of the globe we 
inhabit ; nor can we level the hills, or so raise the val- 
leys that the hills will lose their eminence. The three 
great classes, besides the other reasons for their exist- 
ence, may, for aught I know, be necessary to the im- 
provement and well-being of each other ; the upper 
communicating emulation and refinement to that im- 
mediately below, and the lower furnishing nerve and 
industry to that immediately above. 

" Wholesome berries thrive and ripen best, 
Neighbored by fruits of baser quality." 

However this may be, it is certain that the middle class 
is the most sound and respectable of every community ; 
and this is the class which is now ascendant in France. 
The Chamber of Peers is hardly noticed in the ma- 
chinery of the government. This is partly owing to the 
democratic spirit transmitted from the Revolution, but 
chiefly to the want of hereditary titles and estates. A 



AMERICA AND ENGLAND. 163 

lordship, without money, is a weight about the neck of 
its owner. Shabby peasants look well enough, but one 
has no patience with ordinary people of quality. — 
Nobility holds the same relation to society, as poetry 
to prose ; it does not sutler mediocrity. The too indis- 
criminate and common use of the French titles, has 
done much, also, to their discredit. 

" On ne porte plus qu' etoiles; 
On les prodigue par boisseaux, 
Au pekins comme aux generaux, 

Jusqu' aux marchands de toiles." 

M. Decaze made, during his ministry, as many as 
sixty nobles in a week. These gentlemen do not, them- 
selves, seem to entertain a very high sense of their 
rank. I have heard of more than one hiding his deco- 
ration, to cheapen a piece of goods : as the Italian 
landlord, who passes himself for the waiter, to have the 
quelque chose h boire. I do not mean you to infer from 
this, that to be a nobleman it is necessary to be born so. 
Nothing is so easy as to make any man think himself 
better than others ; the facility even increases in propor- 
tion as he is ignorant. The footman advances his pre- 
tensions with a simple change of his livery — by stepping 
only from an earl's coach to a duke's. A girl will 
change her opinions of herself, from neat's leather to 
prunella, and become prouder and nobler from cotton to 
silk stockings ; but nothing can make any one noble 
who lacks the sense of superiority ; in other words, who 
lacks money. 

I must gossip a little to fill the rest of this blank 
paper. I dined with an American, this evening, at the 
Palais Royal, where he and a young Englishman, 
whom we met there, talked of the merits and demerits 
of their several countries, until their patriotism grew 



164 BASIL HALL. —MISS KEMBLE. 

outrageous. My rule is, to waive all discussions in 
which passion and prejudice have the mastery of reason. 
As far as Paris is concerned, and the traveling English 
whom I know here, America is yet undiscovered, and 
this ignorance, to us who think we have strutted into 
great historical importance, is sometimes quite offensive. 
To make it worse, they suppose that we cannot possibly 
know much of Europe, or indeed of anything— how 
should we, being born so far from Paris? — and they 
begin by teaching us the elements. A very complaisant 
man of the university told me over, the other day, the 
Rape of the Sabines, with all its circumstances ; and a 
French lady, of good literary pretensions and wealth, 
has paraded me more than once to amuse her company, 
by" talking American" — " Quel accent extraordinaire ! 
cela ne ressemble el rien en Europe." — " Ah, you are 
from Boston," said another; "lam glad, perhaps you 

know my brother; he lives in Peru." The common 

people have a kind of indistinct notion, that all x\meri- 
cans are negroes— and as negro sympathies are now 
uppermost in England, we g-ain nothing by their disap- 
pointment. — The English know more ; but their informa- 
tion, as far as I have yet observed, is altogether strained 
through Madame Trollope and Hall, and the other 
caricaturists. In what manner have the English tra- 
veled in our country ? An author, intent on making a 
book, comes over, and tells a lie ; and the next who comes 
over steals it, and passes it for his own ; and at last, it is 
holy writ. I read twenty years ago, in English travels, 
that we gentlemen, at the taverns, clean our teeth with 
the same brush. This has been repeated, I presume, 
by Captains Hall and Hamilton, (for I have met it in 
all their predecessors,) and now is told positively for the 
last time, by Miss Fanny Kemble. M-propos, I saw 



ENGLISH TRAVELERS IN AMERICA. 165 

Captain Hall, the other night, at the Geographical So- 
ciety ; he is a big man, and I did not flog him. As 
for Miss Kemble, she has such a pretty face, and so 
much genius, she may just tell as many lies as she 
pleases. One prefers to go wrong with her, than right 
with many a one else. I read her book aboard the 
ship, and was pleased and entertained with it. Indeed 
I would go, any time, ten miles bare- footed only to see 
a book that^speaks what it thinks; — above all, to see 
a woman of genius, who writes after her own impres- 
sions, and sends her thoughts uncorrected by dunces to 
the press. 

But is it not a spite that we who have been so lied 
upon by the English, should have amongst them a most 
extensive reputation for lying ? It will be a worse spite 
if we deserve it. We certainly use more licentiously 
than they do that pretty figure of rhetoric, they call am- 
plification. But from the little knowledge they possess 
of our country, I suspect one may acquire among them 
a notorious reputation for lying by only telling the truth. 
Long ago there traveled to the south, an Ass, who 
talked to the king of the beasts, of the length of days 
and nights, of the congelation of rains into snows, of the 
Aurora Borealis, and skating on the ice, until he de- 
stroyed entirely all credit for veracity, and was at last 
whipped out of the country for an impostor. It is our 
business to profit by this long-eared experience. When 
you come to Paris, don't forget to tell them the Missis- 
sippi sends its compliments to the Seine, and if you find- 
in London that the horses trot twelve miles an hour, 
don't you say that ours trot fifteen. It is laid down by 
several of the casuists that a man is not to tell truth 
merely, but to consider what may be acceptable as such 
to his audience. 



166 AMERICAN CHARACTER. 

To make the current value of words in England the 
absolute test of good breeding in America appears to 
me scarce reasonable. Something, indeed, is due to age, 
prescription, and to establish fame in letters ; but I do 
not see why we should not begin to use modestly our 
own weights and measures; to pass our gold and silver 
even in an English market— if the currency there hap- 
pens to be brass; and I do not see why one may not 
have a hon ton at Philadelphia, or New York, without 
speaking the fashionable jargon of St. James's. Lan- 
guage is variable from year to year, and we are too far 
distant to take the hue and air of an English court. 
Herodotus spoke in Ionic, Xenophon in Attic, (and Ionia 
was a colony of Attica,) and Plutarch in iEolic, and 
were all three good Greeks. They did not despise one 
another because the one said *<»0t and the other taao. 

" I have known several of your countrymen," said 
Mr. John Bull, " very clever men, but not one who had 
the language of the best society." 

" Our misfortune is, sir, not to have a language of our 
own. The Henriade and the Messiah are in France 
and Germany titles of national distinction. To be 
something in America one must out-write Shakspeare 
and Milton, And how are we to have original views 
and tastes, if our habits of thought and proprieties of 
language are to be settled in a foreign country^ It is 
to be hoped the time will come when in the United States 
one may be sick without going to sea, and raised in 
Kentucky without being a horse or a head of cabbage. — 
And pray, sir, what is there in the language of a well 
educated American so distinguishable ?" 

" I should know you by your first six words. For 
example, you say sir too often, and you use it to your 
equals, where an Englishman would omit it. And I 
should know you by your many cant phrases and by 



AMERICAN FEELINGS TOWARDS ENGLAND. ■ 167 

your singularity of habits — by your easy familiarity 
with strangers/ 7 &c. 

" As I know you by your drinking your Cham- 
pagne alone ; of which you would find no example in 
America." 

"And by your boasting of the future instead of the past. 
— 'The time will come.' — An Englishman says — 'The 
time has come.' " 

" And which is the more honorable boast, for one 

who is nothing himself?" 

" There is this difference ; we are sure of our ances- 
tors, and we are not sure of our posterity." 

" There is another; our ancestors send us down 

many a rogue to dishonor us, and we are never dis- 
graced by our posterity. Besides, sir, it is quite natural 
the old should boast of what they have done, and the 
young of what they will do. Nestor was a more prolix 
and disagreeable boaster than Achilles. Moreover, sir, 
there is no great arrogance in predicting the strength of 
manhood from the vigor of youth." 

" But why should not we claim in posterity at least 
an equal chance ?" 

"- — -Why not? It is certainly not your modesty 
that prevents it." 

" But without speaking of Shakspeare or Milton, what 
apology ?" 

" ; . Whoever heard of a child apologizing for not 

being as big as a" man? — We have, sir, our Franklins 
and Washingtons for the past, our Clays, Calhouns and 
Websters for the present; and now set our fifty years 
against your five hundred, and our ten millions and a 
rude continent against your twenty-five millions and 
your cultivated Island, and what reason, sir, have we to 
be humbled by the comparison ?" 



168 AMERICAN FEELINGS TOWARDS ENGLAND. 

"What could you do more grateful to a parent than 
prove to her the worthiness of her children ? — We should 
rejoice that their merits were still greater." 

" We have imparted as much honor, sir, as we 

have received from the connection ; — or relationship, if 
you please." 

"Oh, if you wish to disown the kindred; agreed 
with all my heart." 

" Yes, sir, there is nearly as much Dutch and 

Irish in the breed at present as English." 

"A kind of Hybrid breed of Irish filth and Dutch 
stupidity." 

« It is known, sir, that the race is improved of 

all animals, man included, by crossing the breed." 

"Your remark is too general. It is known that a 
horse and an ass produce nothing better than a mule. — 
In your crossing-system, too, I remark you have left out 
the negroes. — A-propos of negroes; we have given 
liberty to ours, and you hold yours in bondage." 

" Your slave proprietors have not given this liberty ; 
the inhabitants of Great Britain have not given liberty 
to slaves of which they were individually the proprie- 
tors ; nor has the Parliament set loose three millions of 
negroes in the midst of her white population — so the 
case is not apposite." 

" Well, shall we end the argument ; or shall Iietl you 
of your riots and your Lynch law — and all this vice in 
your republic of fifty years, where we ought to expect 
yet the innocence of youth?" 

" At your pleasure, sir — we expect nothing from 
England but injustice in this as in every other respect. 
After poisoning us with the sensuality of her romances, 
and the Billingsgate of newspapers, she is quite amazed 
that the child has not the sweet lisp, the ruddy com- 



AMERICA AND ENGLAND. 169 

plexion, and the graceful wildness of the infant ; after 
filling our cities with pickpockets, she calls us dishonest ; 
with drunkards, and she calls us intemperate ; and with 
disorderly Irish, and then she tells all the world we are 
riotous; she has covered our land with negroes, and 
stigmatizes us for keeping slaves !" 

"England has this advantage over you — she does not 
grow angry when told of her faults. You are so thin 
skinned in America, you do not bear the least touch of 
the curry-comb without wincing." 

"England, sir, is surly, proud and phlegmatic, and 
thinks every one mad who is not as cold-blooded as 
herself. To be done, sir, America did not crouch to the 
British Lion, when an infant; will she do it now that 
she is grown to maturity? — She stands abreast with 
Great Britain in the estimation of the world, and to 
sustain this dignity she wears her sword " 

"A sword is a very bad criterion of merit; why, a 
highway robber could prove his right to your purse by 
the same argument — " 

My Yankee friend now walked about the room, and 
upset a chair and picked it up again, and then hummed 
a tune to show he was not mad. In the mean time, the 
Englishman had poured out deliberately three glasses : — 
"Come/' said he, "I will be corrected by an American, 
at least in one particular; I will not drink my champagne 
alone when I can find two honest countrymen to share 
it with — we will drink America and England !" 

" England and America !" we replied — my compa- 
nion with some reluctance. 

Before parting, the disputants both agreed that their 

countries had a mutual interest to cherish good feelings, 

and to rejoice at each other's prosperity ; both agreed 

that England now reaped a better profit from our In- 

vol. it.— 15 



170 AMERICA AND ENGLAND. 

dependence than she could have done from our colonial 
subjection ; and that America, by the service she derived 
from English commerce, science, and letters, and from 
English industry in making her canals, working her 
mines, and improving her manufactures, was much more 
than overpaid for any injuries she had a right to com- 
plain of in asserting and maintaining her liberty. A 
cup of coffee now poured its balm upon our national 
jealousies, and we parted with an invitation to visit our 
Englishman, who is a student of the Temple, in London. 

The packets are in — and have brought several fresh 
personages from America, notwithstanding the season. 
They have arrived just in time to have the last snuff of 
the carnival. 

The fire at New York is horrible, but not astonishing. 
Our shingled roofs are more combustible than anything 
I know of— unless perhaps it be gunpowder. There has 
been but one fire in Paris during the last year. 

What you say about the wind blowing off your night- 
cap in your sleep, I take to be mythology ; it means to 
threaten that if Doctor and I stay away in this manner, 
Boreas, or iEolus, or some of the gods will be coming 
to bed to you. — But think only of the vapors, the mud 
and slough of Paris, and then look out upon your pines, 
clad in all the snowy magnificence of winter. I can al- 
most see old Hyems with his grisly chin, grinning from 
the flanks of the Sharp Mountain. My advice is that 
you dissipate the ice, with mirth, and bright fires and old 
wine ; and that you leave other things to the gods — and 
give my love to your mother. 



THE CARNIVAL. 171 



LETTER XX. 

The dancing fever — The grand masquerade — Fooleries of the Car- 
nival — Mardi Gras — Splendid equipages — Masquerades — An ad- 
venture — Educated women — The Menus Plaisirs — A fancy ball — 
Porte St. Martin — The masked balls — Descente de la Courtille — 
End of the Carnival — Birth-day of Washington. 

Paris, February, 1836. 

There has been raging, the whole of this month, a 
disease which prevails here, usually about this season of 
the year — a kind of intermitting fever. It affects the 
whole city with a violent agitation of limbs, and often 
drives the features entirely out of the human counte- 
nance. You can't recognize your most intimate friends. 
The fit comes on exactly at midnight, and then the whole 
of Paris rushes out of doors, like an insurrection. Men 
of the most sober habits, but ten minutes before — men 
and women, who all day long were in the entire pos- 
session of their senses — the moment it strikes twelve, 
pour out like a deluge upon the street ; some scrambling 
into cabriolets, and others running through the mud up 
to, I don't know where, until they get together in the 
theatre, or some great town hall, and there they dance 
the whole night long, as if their legs had taken leave of 
their senses. Towards morning they get into a kind of 
paroxysm — not a galloping consumption, but a gallop- 
ade — which being over, they recover, and go quietly to 
bed, and the fit does not return till the next midnight. 
The doctor was seized with this disorder yesterday, at 
the usual hour, and I never saw any more of him till 



172 FOOLERIES OF THE CARNIVAL. 

this morning. After a little sleep, he feels much calmer, 

and it is thought he will recover. But I am getting 

alarmed about myself; the disease is catching. — In a 
word, I am going to-night, exactly at twelve, to the 
Grand Masquerade, at the Grand Opera; and I am, this 
minute, going to embellish myself for the occasion. I 
have two days between me and the packets ; and con- 
sequently time enough for my correspondence. Good 
night. 

What a silly old world this is ! Nothing can be far- 
ther from my wishes, than to say anything rude of your 
dear French people ; but 'pon honor, they are the great- 
est fools I have seen in my life, and I have seen a good 
many. If you don't believe me, you have but to say 
so ; and then I will take you to the mad-house, and 
prove to you that all the world is reasonable. The 
Boulevards have been running over with the mob since 
three days ; and the galleries and windows and roofs of 
the adjacent houses are bending under their multitudes ; 
cavalcades, the most fantastic, are passing up one side 
of the street, and returning by the other for several miles, 
from the earliest to the latest sun ; while the margin 
and middle and all the interstices are filled with a nation 
of buffoons, trying each one, by some ridiculous figure, 
attitude or action, to outshine his neighbor, in foolery : 
and all are as intent upon this, as if pursuing some main 
purpose of their existence. — There goes the archbishop, 
with a pig by the tail ; and there a nun a-straddle of an 
ass, her heels kicking its sides most ridiculously, without 
increasing its speed ; and there a two-years' baby, in 
breeches and silk hose, is giving pap to its papa, a great 
Irish giant of a man, seven feet or more, in a slobbered 
bib. I saw, yesterday, a dozen, male and female, car- 



MARDI GRAS. 



173 



ried along upon a platform, leisurely eating their soup 
out of — what do you think !— If anything can beggar 
description altogether, 'tis a Carnival. 

On the last day, the Mardi Gras, there is an exhibi- 
tion extraordinary of sumptuous equipages. Ari Ame- 
rican Colonel keeps immense stables, inferior only to the 
great Conde's for these occasions. He has thirty-six 
horses, all of the noblest blood, and on this last day, out 

he comes, with my Lord S , who lives also in great 

circumstances, in elegant rivalry. His and my lord's 
faces are as known upon the Boulevards — " Delia is not 
better known to our dogs." The Colonel popped out 
yesterday, seventeen carriages and four, and knocked all 
the other showmen upon the head. He is praised this 
morning in every one of the newspapers. 

Maskers and harlequins are horrid in day-light, espe- 
cially in Paris with their gay liveries all besmirched in 
mire ; they are only tolerable in moonlight and candle 
light when half the mummery is concealed. That which 
delights me most is the " Masquerades," which I will 
now tell you of, though I cannot pretend to describe 
them in all their pomp and circumstance. — The most 
frequented are those at Musard's, and the most fashion- 
able those at the Grand Opera. In the former, conver- 
sation is relieved by dancing, and many of the gentle- 
men are in masks and fancy costume, and everything is 
intended here for vivid impressions. The orchestra has 
the extraordinary addition of the tolling of a bell, and 
the dragging of a chain, mixed with the full war-whoop 
of human voices. At this House there is much liberty of 
speech. I saw here one of the finest figures of a woman 
I have ever seen, in a cook-maid's dress, and looking 
innocent as if she lived before Adam and Eve. I dia- 
logued with her now and then as she came over to : my 

15* 



174 GRAND OPERA MASQUERADE. 

side in the dance. — Have you a place ? " Yes." — Do 
you like your master ? " Very much." — Wouldn't 
change ? " No." — How much does he give you ? "A 
hundred francs a month." — But if I give you five hun- 
dred ? " Jlli! c'est line autre affaire" 

At the Grand Opera the ladies only are masked, and 
all are in the same dress, so as to be undistinguishable. 
If they choose to be known for special purposes they 
have then their signals. Here they are their aggressors, 
and gentlemen are not allowed the first word, and no 
dancing or noise interrupts the interest of conversation. 
The women, too, are of the best breeding, but on these 
occasions, they are permitted to knock off their fetters, 
and they indemnify themselves not a little for the re- 
straints which tyrannic fashion imposes upon them under 
their natural faces. The Bacchanal ladies of the Greeks 
used to let off the steam of their too great vivacity once 
a year in the same manner. The Opera contains many 
thousands, and yet on all these masquerades it is filled. 
The orchestra is at the nether end, so that the music 
comes from afar, and its harmony reaches the great sa- 
loon so softened that the gentlest lady-whisper falls dis- 
tinctly upon the ear. The parterre which is floored and 
the immense stage form an area apart for the more noisy 
and romping world ; and the boxes over head have their 
company. The upper ones of all are close and grilles, 
with locks and keys and attendants, for persons of re- 
tired habits. Several exquisite nymphs exhibit them- 
selves mounted on a platform at the extremity of the pit, 
having their innocent alabaster arms, and marble necks 
and shoulders, naked ; and other charms are trying to 
hide themselves modestly behind a light gauze, but do 
not always succeed. These dispose of various kinds of 
merchandise by lottery. The hot-houses too pour out 



ADVENTURES WITH TWO UNKNOWN LADIES. 175 

their treasures through the lobbies, and amidst the blush- 
ing roses and dahlias, gallant gentlemen and ladies whis- 
per their loves in each other's ears, or repose about in 
groves that are full of ravishment. 

■ " Jamais les jardins d'Armide, 

Non, jamais les jardins d'Armide, 
N'ont vu de tels enchantements !" 

A lady, of what beauty I know not, but from a sweet 
voice and pretty eyes, was pleased to give me here a 
half hour of her company and chat; who is she ? She 
would not tell me her name, or even her country, but 
said, in taking leave : " Give my compliments to Miss 

C , or if you like better her conjugal name, Mrs. 

G , the only person I know in Philadelphia." I 

begged much her name or some feature by which I might 
hope in the accidents and rencontres of life to recognize 
her ; I asked her a single line of poetry, or even a word, 
and she gave, the malicious thing ! two French words 
only, which added nothing to the information I already 
possessed of her person — she gave me " beaux yeux," 
which I, like a gallant knight, promised to carve upon 
the highest rock of the Alleghany. She had liked to 
have carved them somewhere else herself. A half 
hour's conversation with this lady would certainly leave 
in the mind of any one, of even less taste than I may 
modestly pretend to, a very sensible regret at an endless 
or hopeless separation. Where there are sense and sen- 
timent, fine eyes, harmony of voice, and elegance of 
form, it is difficult not to imagine the association of every 
other perfection. 

I was no sooner forsaken by this amiable lady, than I 
had the luck to find almost a consolation for her absence, 
in another, who was not less remarkable for wit, than 



176 ADVENTURES WITH TWO UNKNOWN LADIES. 

she for sentiment and good sense. This second had all 
the easy unembarrassed air of a fashionable Frenchwo- 
man ; was exceedingly graceful, and had a shape, that 
to any lady of my acquaintance, except one, would be 
unpardonable. She mystified me, and (not a difficult 
thing for a woman) made a fool of me. — " How could 
you exchange," said she, " the sober Luxembourg for 
the frivolous Tuileries ; and how the demure philosophy 
of the Faubourg St. Germain for the gayeties and levities 
of the Rue Neuve des Maturins ?" You sorcerer, how 
can you know where I live, or have lived ? — " In the 
Luxembourg you had a better look ; and there the an- 
gels hovered over you to protect you. I sent you a vo- 
lume to divert you under the shade from your melan- 
choly, and my servant to pick you up from the ice. — 
When do you go home to America ? You should have 
gone long ago, and not be running about Europe get- 
ting vagabond habits in this manner; you have now 
been absent eight months." — I offered her at last the 
New World for her name. 

" You are not the first of your profession who has 
offered worlds that did not belong to him. * * * I 
cannot, I am afraid of your rattlesnakes." 

One encounters greater dangers daily in the midst of 
Paris. 

" The ladies." 

They resemble snakes only in the power of charming. 

" I have seen gentlemen, sometimes, bit by them." 

— " Yes, both young and rich. — What an impertinent 
question !— For the beauty you shall judge for yourself; 
and I will not place you in the unpleasant predicament 
of Paris; you will incur no displeasure of Minerva or 
Juno in giving me the prize." She then removed her 
mask, under the light of a brilliant lamp, and discovered, 



LEVITIES OF THE MASQUERADE. 177 

not only the prettiest face I have seen in Europe, but the 
one I was most anxious to see — the face of my quondam 
" wife of two minutes/' whom I had once met at the 
Louvre, and of whom 1 have spoken in a former letter. 
I would give you more of her conversation ; but, who 
but a simpleton relates dialogues with himself? Besides, 
what fop is there who writes a play, or a novel, or a 
letter of travels, who does not promulgate some foolish 
adventure of his, at a masquerade? * * * "You 
cannot, either in propriety or humanity, leave me with- 
out your name or address.'' 

" D' 'accord — the name or the address." — I foolishly 
chose the latter; and she gave mo her residence, with 
an invitation to visit her at her No. in the Via di 
Sane to Spirito, Florence. 

" One might as well have an eel by the tail." 

" Better have an eel by the tail than a wolf by the 
ears;" with this proverb she dropped into the great 
ocean, and all was smooth again. This woman, not- 
withstanding my immense prudence, was near pinching 
me by the heart. Love was just chirping, but Duty 
breathed her cold breath upon him — and he remained 
unhatched. 

I know of nothing that communicates half so much 
enjoyment to human life, as an educated woman. I 
mean one who joins social accomplishment to literary 
instruction. Her conversation, 

" More glad to me than to a miser money is." 

And a woman, I believe, is nowhere so admirable in 
wit, as under cover of a mask. She then expresses her 
own thoughts; the rein and curb are removed from her 
imagination, which expatiates more wildly from its 
previous restraints. Nor are her triumphs merely in- 



178 LADIES IN MASQUES. 

tellectual, though not shared with feature or complexion, 
for in such cases the fancy outruns even the most vivid 
reality. Pliny thought Apelleshad improved his Venus 
by leaving her unfinished ; for the spectator would 
bring out beauties from the unformed marble, beyond 
the skill even of the divine artist. There are, besides, the 
emotion, the excitement of curiosity, of mystery of ad- 
venture, and the interest of a first meeting and conver- 
sation, not cooled by a gradual acquaintance, which 
lend many new attractions to a woman, and which give 
a charm to the amusement of the masquerade, to which 
few minds can be insensible. 

But why have not our Solons allowed you ladies 
masks in Pennsylvania? — Because they thought you 
better disguised in your own faces. No such thing : 
they thought them dangerous to your morals. Ladies 
think, like partridges, if their heads are hid, all is safe ; 
but our legislators, who were wise and provident, looked 
out for a better security. I have myself found one or 
two of the Christian virtues at a masquerade, very in- 
convenient, to say the least of them. Such amusements 
add but little to the immoralities of these old and refined 
communities ; but the later the day the better to intro- 
duce them into a new country — especially into the 
cloisters of your Two Hills. The folly, the nonsense, 
the wickedness of the world are far beyond the concep- 
tion of you shepherdesses. 

I placed myself last night under the escort of persons 
well versed in all the menu-pleasures of the town, and 
passed the night out to see human nature in a part of 
her great book, which I had not yet perused. 1 fol- 
lowed these two biggest rogues of Paris for information, 
as one follows the pigs to get truffles. 

The Palais Royal had our first visit. Here were 



PORT ST. MARTIN. 179 

both sexes in their fancy dresses and masks, and here 
was the dance in all its wantonness; 

Motus doceri gaudet Ionicos 
Matura Virgo; 

not gross absolutely, but indecency could not easily 
conceal herself under a thinner covering. Ladies do 
not venture here for the world, unless sometimes for 
mere curiosity, and well masked, as the Pagan deities 
used to travel about in mortal disguises to see the ini- 
quities of men. 

Near this place we descended into an immense room 
under ground. Here were trulls in visors, and scaven- 
gers in lily-tinctured cravats. It was the rabble in its 
court dresses. At the farthest end of the room rushed 
out a savage upon a stage and puffed upon twenty in- 
struments ; beat furiously a range of drums with his toes, 
hands, head, heels, &c, to the infinite delight of the 
merry spectators. Don't think, gentlemen, you have 
all the fun at the Tuileries. — My companions did not 
think it safe to abide long in this place. " We are not 
concerned for ourselves," said they, " but we are afraid 
you might be mistaken for a gentleman," and we set 
out for the Port St. Martin. 

Here we introduced ourselves to the Masked Ralls. 
It was near morning, and the common world had danced 
itself into languors. The dance here is unique ; every 
motion of the limbs is an eloquent and pathetic language, 
especially the gallopade. You would go a long way 
to see a French woman of the Port St. Martin gallop. 
The gray hairs, too, of both sexes, dance here. Every 
here and there we saw an old thing of a woman, whose 
follies long ago have gone to seed, tricked out in all 
the magnificence of ribbons, and kindling her last efforts 



180 DESCENT DE LA COURTILLE. 

in the dance. In the private rooms, many, fagged out 
by the labors of the week, were strewed about upon 
chairs and sofas, or upon the floor, either faint and lan- 
guishing, or wrapped in sleep. One, a beautiful woman, 
lay outstretched, her petticoats disheveled, her head 
upon the crossed-legs of her beau, a half sloven, half fop 
in silk breeches and a dirty shirt, who slept upright upon 
a chair; another supine, her mouth open, snored towards 
Heaven; and everywhere were plenty of legs, arms 
and bosoms, disdaining any other covering than the sky. 
— They are gloriously jolly at the Port St. Martin, of a 
Mardi Gras, that's certain. 

About daylight we arrived at the " Descente de la 
Courtille" This is the blackguard rendezvous outside 
the gate so celebrated. All the Sttte of the Parisian 
ragamuffins was here. — " Stand out of the way, you 
fellow without a shirt." — " Stand out of the way yourself, 
you sloven. When you die they'll not think it neces- 
sary to bury you. You can't smell worse." — We got 
through this crowd with long struggles in a close car- 
riage, for the custom is to bespatter with filth any one 
appearing in a decent garb. Paris furnishes for her 
general parades the most genteel rabble in the world, 
and I was not aware she could rake together such an 
ungodly multitude for this occasion.. I went from the 
street into some of their retired places of revelry. Here 
many a one had lost his "upright shape," and was 
sprawling, male and female, about the rooms and 
entries ; brawny men and weather-beaten poissards half 
covered with rags. On the streets were various entertain- 
ing sights. One (a sober man by some miracle) was run- 
ning after his tipsy wife, and unhappy about her as a 
hen that has hatched a duck. Another had come to an 
equilibrium, and was struggling forward, yet standing 



BIRTHDAY OF WASHINGTON. 181 

still, as one in a nightmare, or as a weathercock taking 
resolutions against the wind ; and another was rendering 
up to Bacchus an account of the night's debauch. Fi- 
nally there was one administering a kicking to a retreat- 
ing enemy, which seemed quite a novelty in Paris, and 
excited great interest. I was glad to see that the French, 
when they do resort to violence, prefer that which alone 
is founded on principles of humanity. — This is the " De- 
scente de la Courtille." It is one of the places where 
one sees the nearest approach of our race to the lower 
animals; it is the connecting link. Only think of the 
souls, which are very clever things, and of celestial 
origin, being constrained to animate such vile bodies; 
perhaps, poor things ! they are sent hither from a prior 
existence, to expiate some horrid crime. We returned 
home at eight, the fashionable hour. To go to bed at 
night, or rise in the morning, is all out of fashion. The 

sun was made for the rabble. . . Carnival means, 

farewell to flesh, and indeed there will not be much 
flesh on my bones when it is over. Lent means quiet 
and rest, and comes very properly immediately after it. 
It is to-day the birthday of Washington, and you are 
no doubt honoring it with wine and mirth and festivity. 
I have paid also my tribute to its sacred memory ; and 
who knows but this humble respect, in the " Rue Neuve 
des Maturins," is as welcome to his great spirit, which 
is now above the reach of human vanities, as the pomp 
of your national festivals. It is purity of heart that 
makes devotion acceptable in heaven, and not the mag- 
nificence of the worship. I told my two French convives 
at table (their glasses being filled) it was Washington's 
fete, and they stood up instinctively and drank to his 
memory, pronouncing his name only, in looking towards 
Heaven. — To Heaven he has gone by the general con- 
vol. II.— -16 



182 THE DUCHESS D'ABRANTES. 

sent of mankind.-— " Not as Mahomet, for he needed 
not the fiction of a miracle, to make him immortal, nor 
as Elijah, since recorded time has not pointed out the 
being upon whom his mantle may descend; but (in hum- 
ble imitation) as the Great Architect from created uni- 
verse, to contemplate the stupendous monument his 
wisdom had erected/' After this I may leave the rest 
of this page blank. Good night. 



LETTER XXI. 

Evening parties al the Duchess d'Abrantes' — Mode of admission — 
The weather — Suicides — Madame le Norman, the sibyl — Parisian 
reunions — Manners of French women — American soirees — Furni- 
ture — Hints on etiquette — Manners in Parisian high life — Conver- 
sation — Dress — Qualifications for an exquisite — Smoking— Rules 
for dinner. 

Paris, April 15th, 1836. 

What shall I put in this letter ? I have not thought 
of a thing, and here is only a day between me and the 
mail, and not wit enough in my head to " stop the eye 
of Helen's needle." I will tell you two words J&t the 
Duchesse d'Abrantes, an old acquaintance of yours, and 
her evening parties to begin with ; and leave the rest to 
chance. 

Parties, here, are not very exclusive. The Romans 
used to allow an invited guest to bring a friend along, 
as his "shadow;" so it is in Paris, only that you are 
allowed sometimes two or three shadows, according to 
your intimacy or favor. It is usual, if you know a 



A FASHIONABLE^ SOIREE. 183 

friend going to a party, to sue, through his interest, for 
the privilege of a ticket. It is usual to say, Mr. S., if 
you wish to go to Mr. Thiers' to-morrow night I have 
a ticket for you. In this way, without knowing anything 
of the hostess, you are admitted to her saloon. M. Le 
Baron de B — , whose acquaintance I owe altogether to 
my own merits, unlocks the doors of this upper story of 
the world to me as often as I please to accept his polite- 
ness, which I do sparingly. — The Duchess is the centre 
of a literary circle which meets regularly at her house, 
once a week, for conversation. They do not eat them- 
selves into a reputation for polite learning here, as with 
us. The old lady has come down from the ante-revo- 
lutionary times, and is, no doubt, a good sample of an- 
cient French. And how do these upper sort of folks 
conduct a soiree? Suppose yourself a Duchess and I 
will tell you. — Your servants in livery will introduce 
your guests from the ante-chamber, calling out their 
names; and they, on entering, will make you bows and 
grimaces by the dozen. You also must go through 
your exercise. If a duke, stand up straight ; if a Mar- 
quis, half way up ; if a count, a little way up ; if a Baron, 
just bend a little the hinges of your knees ; and as for a 
mere gentleman, why any common week-day inclina- 
tion of the head will suffice. Your servants, too, will be 
drilled. — Monsieur le Prince de Talleyrand ! — This 
must be pronounced with a loud and distinct voice, 
banging open both the folding doors ; and the buzz for 
a while must cease through the saloon, {yive sensation!) 
— And the note of dignity must be observed down 
through the subordinate visitors ; till you hear on a soft 
soprano, on G flat, just audible, Monsieur Gentigolard ! 
Then you will see squeezing in by the door a little ajar, 
an individual with his clack by the tip end, and his 



184 AN INTRODUCTION. 

knees encouraging each other — blinking something like 
an owl introduced upon the day -light. (Liger mouve- 
ment a gauche.) — It was my luck to be born in a little 
nook of the backwoods, by the side of a hoar hill of the 
Tuscarora, where the eagle builds its eyrie, and the 
wildcat rears its kittens ; it was not my choice, but my 
mother, who had the whole arrangement of the matter, 
would have it so ; and I had never seen a Duchess. 
In coming up the stairs I had to work myself up into a 
fit of aristocracy. " Mr. John/' said I, " you are a good 
looking man, and fashionably dressed ; your father was 
a soldier in the Revolution— a major at St. Clair's de- 
feat ; besides, you are yourself of rather a noble descent, 
your wife's grandmother was the daughter of Sir James 
Blakely, admiral — — ." With these encouragements I 
stepped from the Broad Mountain into the saloon of the 
Duchess. 

However, I was not greatly diverted chlz madame 
la Duchesse. I did not feel any of my faculties much 
tickled except curiosity, and the flutter of novelty is 
soon over ; one soon gets used to be surprised. I had 
a kind of hum-drum talk with an old general, who 
fought me the Revolution over again, beginning with the 
Bastile. I might have been numbered among its vic- 
tims, but I fortunately thought of a bon mot of Aristo- 
tle : I wonder any one has ears to hear you who has legs 
to run away from you— so I ran home to bed and 
dreamt of the battle of Waterloo. The French in high 
life have become a more grave and thinking people than 
formerly, but I believe they cannot substitute any quali- 
ties without injury in the place of their natural levity 
and cheerfulness. They cannot make themselves more 
amiable than they were in the reign of Madame du 
DefTand and Madame GeotTrin, The proportion of la- 



THE WEATHER. SUICIDES. 185 

dies in the saloon of the Duchess was quite scanty; this 
ought to be the case, where a woman is the centre of at- 
traction, but it is not to my taste. If I had run foul of 
a woman this evening instead of this vieux moustache, 
I should not have had a nightmare of Lord Wellington. 

And now, what shall I do with these two sheets, since 
I have done with the Duchess ? — I will talk about the 
weather. Hezekiah would have made no kind of figure 
here with his dial. Mothers feed their children on the 
fog with a spoon, as you do them on pap. What a litter 
of idiots these vapors will breed ! I just swim about 
in them in a kind of unconscious imbecility of intellect; 
I intend to try some one of these days if I can count four. 
As for the streets one cannot put a foot upon them 
without being splashed half way to the chin with every 
kind of immundicity. 

No one ever thinks of going into " Jean Jaques Rous- 
seau," except in a fit of despair, as I do when I expect 
your letters ; why, there was a man, who went through 
this street a few days ago to put a letter in the office, and 
he sunk three leagues in the mud ; he has not been 
heard of since. The French remedy for such weather 
is charcoal ; to be asphyxied is a natural death here. 

A French girl being crossed in love the other day, 
and killing herself the usual charcoal way, kept a jour- 
nal of her sensations. " At twelve, difficulty of respira- 
tion and cold sweat ; at twelve and a quarter, violent 
pain in the chest, &c." — Speaking of suicide, here are 
some curious statistics. For love, two and a half women 
to one man ; for reverses of fortune, three men to one 
woman, and five men to a woman for baffled ambition. 
Of the men the greater number from thirty-five to forty- 
five ; of women from twenty-five to thirty-five ; and 
twice as many girls as boys before the age of fifteen ;«— 

16* 



186 MADAME LE NORMAN. 

so says Talset's Tables. Two women to a man, for 
love, implies that either men have the greater attrac- 
tions, or women the greater sensibility ; which is it ? 1 
will finish this paragraph with an adventure of a few 
days ago, which comes in apropos enough, talking about 
charcoal. 

There lives in the Rue de Tournon an old Sibyl called 
Madame le Norman, whom all persons of sense or non- 
sense, who are curious about the future, visit. She can 
spell the stars, and she reads the destinies as I do the 
Journal des Debats, and she acquired such a fame by 
predicting the overthrow of Napoleon, that her house 
has been literally beset ever since by petitioners. You 
have to bespeak her a week ahead. A great comfort 
she is to young gentlemen, whose fathers won't die, and 
she gives hopes to married ladies, who have old hus- 
bands.— Well, this prophetic old woman told Doctor C. 
he had a wife and two children in a foreign land, pining 
after him, which proves she can see behind as well as 
before ; and that he would make acquaintance this week 
with a noble lady — all true ! — Then she held my hand, 
and cast a poring look upon it, and thrice she shook 
her head. Alas! — She saw in my face a great many 
" drowning marks." 

So you see there is no chance in the world, unless 
your prayers shall reverse the fates, of my ever getting 
home. I will tell you why I was induced to go on this 
expedition to Delphos — for which 1 am sorry now, for I 
think, like Julius Caesar, that the mind of man should 
be ignorant of its fate — it was to accompany your old 

acquaintance , who has fallen desperately in love 

with a French woman ; Mais, ma chlre, vous n'en avez 
pas Vid'ee ! — In fine, he is so in love that he has serious 
thoughts of leaving off chewing tobacco. It was to 



CONVERSATION. 187 

gratify him that I went, as he wanted to see the end of 
this French woman. — And now with this fortune-teller, 
and the suicides, the bad weather, and a Virginia doc- 
tor, I have got rid of a whole page of blank paper, and 
? pon honor 1 had no other motive for calling them to your 
notice. 

I will go back to my original text, and try to be sen- 
sible from this out. Evening visitings and gossipings 
have now taken place of the tipsy rompings of the car- 
nival. The midnight orgies are hushed, and the blazing 
tapers and glittering gems are quenched until the return 
of a new year. Society has put on a light, easy and 
decorous garb, which it will wear for the rest of the sea- 
son ; fashion rigorously forbidding any departure from 
its chaste simplicity. 

Conversation is now the main object of social inter- 
course, and everything is made to contribute to its en- 
joyment. It is admitted by those who are best able to 
judge, that the Paris "Riunions" of this season form the 
very best school that is known of colloquial accom- 
plishment ; and they have a charm which other nations 
have not found the secret of communicating to such 
pastimes. The largest share of this praise is of course 
due to the women. Whether it be the language better 
suited than ours to conversation, or a constitutional 
gaiety, or vanity, which is so much more amiable than 
pride, I know not ; but a well bred French woman is 
certainly the most agreeable creature of which the world 
has any example. 

I have often seen between me and the heaven of a 
fine woman's face in America an impracticable distance 
— a bright star in the firmament, which one must be 
content to worship without hope of ever reaching its 
elevation. I have often been confounded so, in my ten- 



188 MANNERS OF FRENCH WOMEN. 

der years, by the awfulness of American dignity, as to 
be afraid of my own voice ; and I have felt in the pre- 
sence of a lady — as if made by a carpenter. Such a feel- 
ing, in the humanity and gentleness of French affability, 
is unknown. You breathe freely, and retain the natural 
use of your faculties, physical and intellectual. A 
French woman's politeness levels every distinction ; the 
modest man is relieved of his diffidence, and the hum- 
ble raised to self-esteem, by her gracious civilities; and 
a lady of elevated rank always strips herself, before an 
ordinary mortal, of her rays, that he may approach her 
without being consumed. Nor does the French woman 
lose anything of her dignity in this familiarity, she speaks 
with kindness, and even affection to her servants, and 
yet is secure of their respect and obedience. 

I have come into the opinion that a lady has no occa- 
sion to bristle up her crest in defence of her quality, or 
bring around it the protection of reserve or haughtiness; 
and that her honor, unless the garrison is corrupt, is safe 
in its natural defences. — It is not necessary to say that 
under_such good instruction the French gentlemen also 
are highly polished and amiable. There is no one of 
them who does not set apart some portion of the twenty- 
four hours for social amusement, and it is the evening, 
when the mind is weary of business or study, that most 
requires relaxation. 

In the evening, then, all the world is abroad ; and it 
is reasonable to suppose that wit must have attained 
its highest degree of pungency, and style every ingre- 
dient of perfection, with such advantages. A French- 
man's ambition is to shine, and he comes armed at all 
points, exactly cap-h-pie for the occasion ; above all he 
takes care that the stimulus of ardent liquors, and a 
heavy indigestible meal at the dinner table, may not 



TASTEFUL FURNITURE. 189 

for the rest of the day blunt the edge of his vivacity and 
enjoyments. 

I have seen a few of these parties, enough to judge 
of the rest. Each house is " at home," at least once a 
week, and the invitations are general for the season, or 
occasional, ancf the regular guests have the privilege of 
bringing a friend. I went last night to Civiale's the 
eminent surgeon's. One room was filled with miscella- 
neous company, another with gentlemen only, at billiards, 
&c. — All was ill a buzz of merriment, and without any 
show of ceremonious restraint — all was "fortuitous 
elegance, and unstudied grace," and this is one of 
Johnson's definitions of happiness. " Come to-morrow 
night," said C— — ," and you will hear one of your 
countrywomen play ; her talent is not second to any 
lady's of Paris." — Who is she ? from Boston. — I have 
said nothing of the American "soirees" here, which are 
nearly as at home, but more lively ; I suppose from 
contagious example and from the natural warmth of a 
friendly meeting in a foreign country. To a stranger 
who arrives, they are at once a consolation and enjoy- 
ment ; and it is to be hoped that a vicious emulation of 
sumptuousness, every day increasing, may not disturb 
their frequency and cordiality. 

The furniture of fashionable rooms here is more 
tasteful, and usually more elegant than in our richest 
houses. The propriety of colors, and harmony of ar- 
rangement, and such things are with many persons the 
study of a whole life. Richness is the praise of the 
English dames, and chasteness and concinnity of the 
French. 

In England, where primogeniture preserves property 
indivisible, a house is furnished from a remote antiquity, 
and there is encouragement to taste and expense ; but 



190 IJINTS ON ETIQUETTE. 

what motive is there to furnish in our country, where 
Joseph has as much as Reuben, and where the next day- 
after the owner's decease, the furniture encounters the 
auctioneer's hammer; and where fashion, too, turns a 
house wrong side out every six years. Besides, what 
serves it to put costly sums upon what isMestined to be 
scraped and cut up by one's dozen of spoilt children, or 
to be carved into notches by one's whittling cousins of 
Kentucky? 

Now with what shall I fill this immense space which 
remains? — Oh, I will give you all the precepts and 
aphorisms I can think of, of Paris good breeding. 
They will be so useful to you in the " coal region." 

You may give your arm to a gentleman in public, 
but don't give him both your arms. 

Keep on your gloves at church ; take them off when 
you go to bed. 

Bow when full tilt on the street and don't curtsey. 
Try only how inconvenient it is to curtsey in the ope- 
ration of fast walking ; besides, your frock will get in 
the mud. 

If you can't go to the "Trinity" to prayers, send 
your card. 

If you meet a lady on the Boulevards of Pottsville, or 
other public promenade, don't salute her, unless she first 
gives you some token of recognition ; if you meet her in 
Mann and Williams' Mine, two miles under ground, you 
may. This invisibility gives a lady a chance of doing 
in public what she chooses. If you see a lady at her 
door or window in dishabille, to salute her is inexcusa- 
ble, especially gartering up her stockings. If you espy 
her straying with a gentleman amongst the romantic 
shades of the Wizard Mill Creek, or by the wild cliff 
which overhangs the Tumbling Run, tapestried with 



HINTS ON ETIQUETTE. 191 

honey-suckles, you must whistle Yankee Doodle, so as 
to leave her the impression she is unobserved. 

If you take a walk on Guinea Hill, and Black Bill 
uncovers, take off your hat also : it won't do to be out- 
done by Congo negroes. 

Never write a catalogue of your linen for the washer- 
woman. He is a filthy man, who knows the number 
of his shirts. And get them made at Formin's of the 
Rue Richelieu. He makes shirts & ravir ; see adver- 
tisement ; "U?ie chemise bienfaite a ett jusqu' ici un 
pheno?n6?2e, fyc." Many a man's skin don't fit half so 
perfectly. 

If you meet a lady in public with a strange gentle- 
man, return her salute with your hat in your left hand, 
and walk on ; or if she stop you, bow to the gentleman 
also, and respect his rights. I walked through the 
Tuileries the other day with a lady, and met — I am 
sorry it was an American, who, intervening, hummed 
me out of the lady's acquaintance, without noticing 
me. This is excessively ill-bred, and an insult to the 
lady. 

A Parisian lady possesses greater moral, as well as 
physical strength than the lady of our cities. In Phila- 
delphia, she cannot, for her little soul, venture out into 
a public place without a lifeguard, no more than Louis 
Philippe ; and even then she is shy, and picks her steps, 
trembling in her knees and heart:—" Pa, don't you go 
that way, there's a man !" Now a Frenchwoman does 
not care to go out of the way of a man— no more than 
the French army out of the way of the Bedouins. She 
just takes hold of her caniche in one hand, and walks 
out without caring for the king. — Oh my ! and what's a 
caniche? — A little curly dog; she holds it by a string, 
and it walks along-side of her, and with the protection 



192 MANNERS IN 

only of this little shaggy animal she feels herself im- 
pregnably fortified against the whole sex. 

When a gentleman escorts a lady to dinner he must 
not stick his elbows into her ribs, and hang her to him 
as his mantle to a post. Politeness requires him to 
move exactly two feet and a half behind her, and a little 
to the left. The gait is not a light matter in feminine 
graces ; it is, indeed, one of the attributes by which a 
woman is most admirable. The Pius iEneas did not 
recognize his mother as a goddess, until she had turned 
tail to him in this manner; and when Juno said, " I 
walk the queen of Heaven," do you think she had 
Jupiter by the arm ? French etiquette allows a lady every 
chance of striking out a beauty — even to giving her the 
black men at the chess-board to show off her white and 
tapering fingers. 

Never look at your glove when you take it off to 
shake hands. — You only want to show that Walker 
made it, or draw attention to the gem that sparkles 
under it. The grand rule is in bringing out a grace, 
that the -intention be concealed — besides, your attention 
is due to the individual to whom you have proffered 
your civilities. 

If you come to Paris, you are to have but one child 
— babies are going out of fashion. — And you must call 
him " Emile" (after Rousseau's) and then put him out 
to nurse. 

I intreat you to remember there is no cooing over 
one's little wife here ; it looks uxorious, which is a 
great scandal. It is not reputable to either party, im- 
plying either that the husband is jealous, (and he would 
rather be hanged,) or that the wife is a disagreeable 
thing, (and she would rather be crucified,) and cannot 
get a beau. 



PARISIAN HIGH LIFE. 193 

I have seen ladies here often obliged— not having 
anything at hand but their husbands — to forego the 
pleasures of the finest fetes and parties. I have often 
had wives thrown in my face on such occasions. This 
custom has an exhilarating effect upon social vivacity. 
There is nothing so stupid in nature as one's husband, 
generally speaking. He has traveled his wife's mind 
over and over, and what can he have to say — and vice 
versa ; in his neighbor's he has a new and unexplored 
territory ; and a stranger suggests new attentions, gives 
a new tone of feeling. Besides, a little mixture of evil 
seems necessary with every good. The conjugal feel- 
ings are pure, honest and domestic, but like all the be- 
nevolent affections, are rather unentertaining ; it is known 
that nothing gives wit so abundantly as a little malice. 
The Parisian public does not suffer a fine woman to be 
monopolised ; she has social as well as domestic duties ; 
and if the husband wants her company, why go abroad 
with her? Somebody's lordship once said that a mar- 
ried woman was nothing but an appropriated girl. His 
lordship had not traveled on the Continent. I know 
that in your town, where a married couple grow to- 
gether like Juno's swans, or like those "two cherries" 
in Shakspeare, such a custom must seem abominable. 

Ladies kiss and don't shake hands in Paris. Gentle- 
men kiss too, but only on great occasions. I was kissed 
the other day by a man for the first time. It was one 
of the trying situations of my life. I felt like that per- 
sonage who was strangled by Hercules. — See the picture 
in the mythology. 

In Parisian high life, husbands and wives do not 
lodge conjointly. They visit at New-Years; they send 
also to inquire about each other's health, and they meet 
out occasionally at parties. Even among the less fash- 

VOL. II.— 17 



194 MANNERS IN 

ionable, they occupy separate chambers, which has this 
inconvenience, that that great court of Chancery, the 
"Curtain Lectures," leaves many important cases un- 
tried. — Recollect, however, that the husband meeting 
the wife accidentally in company, always treats her 
with marked attentions ; he stops at the end of every 
five words to say " My dear," and then he needs not 
speak to her till they meet again at the next party. 

Ladies here never gossip of one another's demerits, 
which goes well nigh to make them all honest. Also a 
lady having " an affair," makes no parade of it. Her 
lover is the very last person in the community who runs 
any risk of being suspected ; and her gallantries, if 
known, bring no ridicule upon her husband or tarnish 
in the least his reputation among other ladies. In all 
nature 1 know nothing so unsuspicious as the French 
husbands. They have got, each one, nearly into the 
state of -that most unbelieving Greek, who doubted of 
everything, and at last doubted that he doubted. I will 
tell you a story which made me laugh this morning. A 
gentleman called at the Hotel and asked the porter — 
" Where does Mr. 0. V. T. live?" « Sir, there are three 
of that name in Paris." "I allude to the physician." 
" They are all three physicians." " I mean the physi- 
cian to the Royal family" " Sir, they are all three." 
"Que diable ! je venx dire celui qui est cocwP-^ y "Ah, 
Monsieur, ils le sont tous les trois /" I tell you this 
only for its pleasantry, and not to hint the frequency of 
such cases. I have, indeed, heard of one French hus- 
band, who was jealous a little while. He flew at his 
wife's lover with a knife, and perhaps would have killed 
him, but she rushed between, and seizing his arm, ex- 
claimed : "Jlrrete, malheureux, lu vas liter le pere de 
tes enfans /" and the knife fell from his paternal hands. 



PARISIAN HIGH LIFE. 195 

In conversation there is a language of prudery, and 
a language of grossness. — These are the extremes, and 
propriety is somewhere about the middle. Human na- 
ture, especially in large cities, does not bear exquisite 
refinement. To refine, is to be indelicate ; to hide, is to 
discover. In America, we get, in some places, into the 
very wantonness of delicacy, and decency herself be- 
comes absolutely indecent. There are two sorts of 
persons affected in this way; the modest woman just 
stepping into the world, and the woman who has been 
in it too much. The latter "adds to the bloom of her 
cheek in exact proportion to the diminution of her 
modesty." — You have acquitted me of this charge of 
prudery in several of your letters — much obliged. I 
wish I could be as easily absolved from the opposite 
offence. All I can say in mitigation is, that living a 
whole year in Paris, and describing Parisian manners, 
make it very difficult not to incur such a blame from 
green and sensitive villagers. I may observe, however, 
that freedoms are often permitted in one person, which 
may be very blamable in others, depending entirely 
upon the comparative innocency of their lives. Lafon- 
taine is never taxed with indecency, yet in words he is 
a libertine without a rival ; — and your baby may kick 
up its heels and do a good many things that would be 
very unbecoming in its mother. 

When you come to Paris you may talk of the elo- 
quent preacher and the music at St. Roch's with rap- 
tures ; but recollect you cannot do a more silly thing 
than to make any show of religion. Though you may 
know your Bible by heart, it will be well sometimes to 
ask, who Samuel was, or David, or Moses, by way of 
recommending your good breeding. 

If a coach stops at your door and brings you an ac- 



196 MANNERS IN PARISIAN HIGH LIFE. 

quaintance up the stairs, you must say in a fret—" Here 
is that sickening thing again ; now I shall be teazed with 
her insipid talk all the morning. Why did they let her 
in."- — « My dear Caroline, I am so rejoiced to see you !" 
and then you must jump about her neck. — "I was so 
dull, and just wanted your sweet countenance and wit 
to enliven me." — This is only a little fashionable air and 
does not mean anything. The French profess more 
violent affections before your face and employ more 
saucy ridicule behind your back, that any other people ; 
but the mass of kindness and benevolence is about as 
great here as in other countries. — Complimentary phrases 
are in no country to be taken literally. In Paris if a 
man swears he loves you, and will share his last crumb 
with you, he means of course that you are to pay 
for it. 

In taking leave of a lady, see her to your chamber 
door, and then hold the door a little ajar, and wait until 
she has turned round and given you the valedictory 
smile ; then it is an affair finished. You are not to fol- 
low to the street. You rub your lamp, that is, you ring 
a bell, and a genius appears to conduct her. This leaves 
her at liberty with respect to her equipage. 

Nothing is so ill-bred as officious assiduities. Good 
breeding never makes a fuss • it takes good care of a lady 
when her safety and real comfort are concerned, with 
kindness, but not officiousness. Anticipate all her wants, 
gratify all her whims, and overload her with superfluous 
civilities, and you make her ungrateful, selfish, disagree- 
able. She will regard your neglects as offences, and your 
kindnesses as dues that enjoin no acknowledgement. 
You know what unhappy, disagreeable things spoiled 
children are, and in their infantine grace and innocence 
how amiable ; their mammas may be spoiled in the 



DRESS. 197 

same way, and when spoiled are equally detestable. 
No I a bene: the papas may be spoiled too. 

When you pay a visit, go away rather too soon than 
too late ; leave people always a little hungry of your 
company ; unless you are of that class of ladies who 
" make hungry where most they satisfy." 

I advise you in your dress not to follow too implicitly 
the fashions of Europe, and especially not to exaggerate, 
which is so common with imitators. In bowing with 
the reverence to French fashions, which is becoming in 
all woman kind, have a decent respect to the human 
shapes and appearances. Why, I have seen bustles or 
bishops, or what do you call them, put up even in Chest- 
nut street, by some of you, who, under the Rump Par- 
liament, would have been taken up for a libel. 

If you are well dressed, no one meeting you will ask 
who made your frock. One stares at the woman, and 
the frock is unseen. Do you believe that any one asks 
Madame le Hon who made her chapeau, or the pretty 
countess de Vaudreuil, or the Duchess de Guiche, who 
plaited these diamonds, more beautiful than the starry 
firmament, upon their turbans; or the Duchess de Plai- 
sance who made her shoe ? No, no, the heart is full of 
the little foot, and there is no room there for the shoe- 
makers and mantuamakers. 

Don't do things always the same way. If, for exam- 
ple, you hand a gentleman anything (a bit of anthracite 
of the "Peacock Vein/' or a joint of a railroad) do it 
with a graceful simplicity. I know an elegant of your 
village, polished, to be sure, only with coal-dust, who 
always brings his hand inconveniently to his heart as 
the starting place, and then sets off in a beautiful hyper- 
bola, and always with a velocity geometrically progres- 
sive. Do you be various ; look sometimes beautiful ; 

17* 



198 QUALIFICATIONS FOR AN EXQUISITE. 

look sometimes well, and for heaven's sake if you can, 
look sometimes ugly. She who wears a pretty cap 
every day, because it is a pretty cap, is " the cap of all 
the fools." 

In Paris scandal is reduced to a minimum, for two 
reasons ; first, from the variety of events ; — a large city 
swallows at a meal, what would feed your towns for a 
whole month ; and secondly, because what we call 
breaking three or four of the commandments is here no 
sin. As for elopements there are none ; no occasion to 
run away. 

News and coffee are taken usually together, and both 
must be hot. It is low breeding to talk of anything 
which happened three days ago ; the news of the last 
week is the last year's almanack. A Parisian gentleman 
never speaks but of great events, and those which are 
just born; nor does he rashly speak of Racine or Cor- 
neille, or such like antiquated authors ; it smacks of the 
Provinces. 

To be an exquisite, the qualifications are to talk of 
the opera and the races, and play at whist, dine at the 
Cercle des Etrangers, make a leg, walk in a quadrille, 
and avoir la plus jolie maitresse de Paris. It also re- 
commends one greatly to have a pale face and emaciated 
shanks ; implying a long course of high living; besides 
it gives a modish languor to one's air, it is exceedingly 
genteel. It is understood of course, that one must be a 
useful man about a woman, and have one's pockets 
stuffed with her little conveniences. If she wants a pin, 
his pincushion is at her service ; or a needle, he must 
have all the number, from six to a dozen. 

To be a gentleman of the bon ton, it is necessary not 
to be suspected of any useful employment, or of regula- 
ting life by any rule of order or economy; above all not 



SMOKING. 199 

to be without some amorous intrigue. Three or four 
persons should always be jealous of one at the same 
time. 

With a moderate pair of whiskers and mustachios, with 
a littie tuft on the inferior lip, and all trimmed like the 
garden of Versailles, he is a classic ; but if you see a 
gristy monster with the beard of a Scotch boar and his 
hair flowing in all its St. Simonian shagginess about his 
shoulders, and with the sallow complexion of a quarte- 
roon, seated by the side of a smooth and elegant female 
of an afternoon in the Tuileries, he is of the romantic 
school !— I wonder you women don't set your faces 
against these beards ! 

Gentlemen smoke now in Europe everywhere, but 
chew and spit nowhere. I have observed that the 
French Exchange, where several thousand persons daily 
congregate upon a white marble floor, is always pure 
from the contamination of spitting. The French are, 
however, often disagreeable by spitting in their hand- 
kerchiefs. The best model, they say, in such matters is 
an English gentleman. The ancient Persians were still 
a better. An Englishman often gets into good, some- 
times bad customs, from a pure antigallic opposition ; as 
Lord Burleigh turned out his toes, because Sir Christo- 
pher Hatton turned his in. 

The Frenchman is hyperbolical, and the Englishman 
not even emphatic ; the one makes loud professions, and 
the other none; the one spits in his pocket, and the other 
refuses to spit at all. However, there is no need of na- 
tional antipathies to dissuade mankind from chewing 
tobacco, which is certainly one of the most aggravated 
indecencies that human nature has been guilty of. How 
it should exist where there are ladies, I do not conceive. 



200 RULES FOR DINNER. 

and least of all do I conceive how it should exist in 
Philadelphia, the most gynocratic of all cities ! 

But I smell the dinner; and since I am in the way of 
aphorisms, I will give you a few to eat by, as a dessert, 
and to fill the rest of this page. — In your cookery, avoid 
all high-seasonings, and coarse flavors ; they are vulgar. 
Cayenne, curry, allspice, and walnut pickles, and all such 
inflammatory dishes are banished from the French 
kitchen entirely. If even the butter has a little crumb 
of salt in it, it is obliged, like the President's Message, 
to make an apology for its sauciness. Everything is 
served as far as possible in its own juices. 

Even the ladies have left off aromatics ; eau de Co- 
logne, only, keeps its place upon the toilet. There is 
no use of perfuming a lady, but by way of remedy. 
The sweetest women are inodorous ; and high season- 
ings for meats, are used only as antiseptics. If you ask 
a company to dinner, either dine out yourself, or con- 
ceal your authority by. mixing, as they do in Paris, un- 
distinguishably with your guests. The guest must feel 
at his ease. And take care to observe antipathies and 
affinities, in the distribution of the seats. How many 
sin against the rule. I have known a lawyer put along- 
side of a judge ! The French used to place a gentleman 
by a lady, and both drank from the same cup and eat 
from the same plate ; sometimes the gentleman would 
put the bite in the lady's mouth. I am sorry— some- 
times I am glad — that this turtle dove way of eating 
has gone out of fashion. 

The table in America presents you the entire meal at 
a single view — in some houses including the desert; and 
while the dishes are lugged fifty yards from the kitchen, 
and await then the ladies, fixing themselves in their 
chambers, and then one another, what do you think has 



RULES FOR DINNER. 201 

happened ? Why, the jellies are coddled, the drawn 
butter has gone into bla?ic-mange, the beef gravy to 
tallow, and the chickens to goose-flesh : in a word, 
nothing is hot but the butter. 

It may be laid down as a rule that no man can 
dine who sees his dinner. Pray you observe a suc- 
cession and analogy of dishes. I intreat you at least 
that the fish may be hot, and that it may not wait an 
hour for its sauce. And take care that your waiters 
have a proper acquaintance with human nature and 
its wants, and that they be penetrated with a sense of 
their duties. They must understand congruities, and 
know the desires and appetites of a guest from his 
countenance. 

I have seen countries where if one asks mutton, he 
has to ask turnips also ! I have seen servants in our 
country, who all the while you are in agony for a 
dish, are standing and gaping at the ceiling — fellows 
whom Heliogabalus would have crucified immediately 
after dinner. A French gargon told me, he knew a 
man's wants — if a gentlemanly eater — by the back of 
his neck. " I was puzzled," said he, " the other day 
by an American — he wanted a glass of milk, just after 
his soup." 

To remove a plate too soon by offlciousness, is a mon- 
strous fault, and to make a clatter among the dishes is 
excessively annoying, What a hurly-burly at an Ame- 
rican dinner ! — At the Rocher Cancale you would think 
the servants were bearing along the sacred things of 
Mother Vesta — their feet are mufflled, the dishes of 
velvet. In barbarous times a monstrous baron used to 
bring the dinner into his hall, by servants on horseback : 
a good housekeeper now, by placing his dining room 
and kitchen in contiguity, and all accessories at the side 



202 THE LAP-DOG. 

of their principals studies that their services may be 
almost invisible. — A host of delicate taste never in- 
troduces one but as they do a ghost at a play, where the 
occasion is indispensable — nodus nisi vindice dignus. 
These four words of Latin just saved their distance, and 
I have only room to add—good night. 



LETTER XXII. 

« 

The Lap-dog — The dame blanche — The beauty in a gallery — The 
— Lingere — Madame Frederic — Fete de Longchamps — Parisian 
Fashions — Holy Concerts — Pretty women — Empire of fashion — 
Reign of beauty — The fashionable lady. 

May, 1836. 
I have just had yours of the 4th of April, and have 
seen two of Miss Kitty's, very acid. Doctor let one of 
them fall in the Seine from the Pont Neuf and it made 
lemonade to St. Cloud. Poor Miss Kitty ! I wish she 
had such a husband as her mother; who, instead of 
going to carnivals, and masquerades, and receptions, 
and such places, and giving uneasiness to his wife, 
stays at home and looks cross all -the evening by the 
fire-side. I walked out this morning in one of these 
domestic fits, and kicked a lady's lap-dog in the Tui- 
leries, and was called to account for it by a pair of mus- 
tachios like the horns of a centipede, and I got off only 
by making an apology to the lady and the puppy — 
(smiling to her and patting the dog a little) which 1 
would not have done under the administration of James 
Madison. 



THE DAME BLANCHE. 203 

This happened just by the statue of Lucretia, who 
used to stay at home also in the same way of an evening 
in spinning ; it would have been perhaps better for both 
of us to have mixed a little more in the amusements of 
the town. The fact is, it puzzles the best of us to know 
how to behave ourselves. One may fall, like the Roman 
lady, into difficulties at home, and another into tempta- 
tions abroad. But alas, poor Kitty ! — Beware of telling 
her what I am going to relate to you. You know what 

a thing jealousy is. Doctor has fallen in love with 

a French woman. To be sure she is one of the most 
glorious beauties of Paris, admired by the very first 
nobility — by the Duke of Orleans, by the Duke of Ne- 
mours and by the Duke of I don't know what else ; and 
if the truth is known I believe the king himself is fond 
of her. If only you had seen her last night at her harp ! 
— a fine woman is dangerous in any shape whatever ; 
but when she adds music to her charms — one surrenders 
at discretion. If you had heard her wild notes, as they 
thrilled upon the wires, and as her fluttering voice soft- 
ened and expired upon the listening ear, you would not 
yourself have blamed a little infidelity towards one's 
wife, especially all the way to Paris. I hate to keep 
you in pain, so I will tell you at once her name. — What 
makes it a little more unhappy perhaps is, that she is 
a lady of rather a doubtful reputation ; and belongs at 
present to the "Opera Comique •"■ to say the truth the 
doctor and I both had her company last evening for 
three francs and a half a piece. In fine, if you will ab- 
solutely know, it was the "Dame Blanche" 

And now that I am in the chapter of accidents, I may 
as well tell you that your old acquaintance D. D — on 
Saturday night was found dead — (say nothing of this to 
his sister, she will be so afflicted) — he was found dead 



204 CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS. 

drunk in the Place de Carousel; and on Monday he got 
up at six in the morning, and went deliberately into a 
tippling shop in the neighborhood, and ran himself 
through the body (being mad at his father for not sending 
him money) — with a pint of rum. 

I have now prepared you for a story of a much more 
serious import — a story which concerns myself. 1 would 
not tell it to you but in obedience to my invariable rule 
of concealing nothing from you. What a place this Paris 
is ! No virtue is under shelter of its temptations. Solo- 
mon had a great deal more wisdom than I pretend to, 
and he was seduced away by foreigners, who, 1 dare 
say, were not half so tempting as these French. 

I was looking out a few days ago to see what kind of 
weather it was;— there was not a cloud on the firma- 
ment ; but there was a very beautiful woman standing 
in a gallery almost opposite ; so I left off looking at the 
Heavens just to look at this woman a little, never sup- 
posing any harm would come of it. But nothing is so 
dangerous as this cross-the street kind of acquaintance. 
The silent conversation of looks, so much more expres-* 
sive than words ; the mysterious conjectures about what 
each others' thoughts may be, and above all the obstacle 
of the intervening space — you know what enormous 
things obstacles are. — If it had not been the wall with 
the crack in it at Babylon, I dare say Pyramus and 
Thisbe would not have cared for each other a French 
sou. — She kept looking and looking (I mean the woman 
in the gallery) and now and then I looked back at her. 
And if I have been looking into the looking-glass more 
than usual, and if the tailor has just brought me home 
an entire new suit, which I could not well afford, it is 
all owing to her. I wish you could have seen the ele- 
gant creature this morning, as I did, at her toilet, as she 



THE BEAUTY. 205 

stood like our first mother combing down to her ankles 
(the prettiest pair but one you ever saw) her long hair, 
which hung around her as a misty cloud about the full 
moon. The little shoe soon embraced her foot and the 
garter her knee ; the maid laced up her corsets, giving 
graceful folds to hex jape, gracility to her waist and re- 
lief to her tournure ; and incased her fair form in a 
frock, " soft as the dove's down and as white ;" — her 
glossy tresses having already received their fittest har- 
mony from her nimble and tapering fingers. And now 
she sat at her mirror, and perused her elegant features ; 
she looked joyful, then sad, then cruel, then tender, and 
brought out each sentiment into its most elegant and 
dangerous expression ; she studied a frown and then 
put on the magic of a smile. — The fine rhetoric of the 
bosom came next — the rock upon which taste so often is 
wrecked. Here she meditated and pondered much, and 
inquired of the Graces how far she might adventure — 
" how much to the curious eye disclose, how much to 
fancy leave." 

I walked with her yesterday, amidst the elegant life 
of the Tuileries, at her return from an airing at the Bois 
de Boulogne. Unless you see a woman at all her 
fashionable hours, as well as in all her attitudes and pas- 
sions, you know nothing of her beauty. She wore a 
little airy hat, a la Duchesse de la Valliere, the bird of 
Paradise waving over her stately brow ; 

" Sauve a guisa va di un bel pavone, 
Diritta sopra se, come una grua ;" 

with cock-feathers in weeping willow upon the crown. 
— I went in the evening to the ball with her — parole 
d'honnear ; in her dress of satin, citron color, trimmed 
in gauze volant, and %. t unique of the same, with 

VOL. II. — 18 



206 WASHERWOMEN. 

wreaths of roses ; and in her hair a garland of forget- 
me-not, with gems assorted by Beaudran, and beautiful 
as the stars upon the azure firmament. In her morning 
walk, if she condescends ever to walk in the mornings, 
her mantle is of deep colors. She wears in half dress a 
chapeau bibi ; in neglige, her tresses are parted under a 
capote, and her thin gauze handkerchief, zigzag, is 
narrow by an inch ; 

— " 'neath which you see 



Two crisp young ivory apples come and go, 
Like waves that on the shore beat tenderly, 
When a sweet air is ruffling to and fro." 

I send you a copy of her washerwoman's list for the 
last week. I have seen one of the queen Elizabeth's 
somewhere, which began thus : Elizabeth by the grace 
of God, queen of England, Ireland and France, De- 
fender of the Faith. Two petticoats, 8?c. fyc. This 
French woman's is without preface, as follows : One 
frock, a Vabri gallant; one do. souris effrayb ; two 
do. rassuries ; one jnpon inexorable ; two do. implaca* 
bles; with other articles too tedious to enumerate. 

A-propos. The department of the wash-tub is im- 
portant, and I may as well give you here its statistics. 
There is the Bourgeoise, who superintends, and under 
her in order, the savoneuse, the empeseuse, and refi- 
neuse. A plain washerwoman has forty-two soils per 
day, and a starcher, clear starcher and ironer, three 
francs. There is scarcely anything in Paris more neat 
and elegant than a Lingere. Each branch is brought, 
by a division of labor, to a nice perfection, which you 
will see in no other country ; but, to find a single per- 
son, who can put a shirt through all its varieties, is 
nearly impossible. A gentleman's account stands thus : 
Une chemise, trots sous; veste, trois sous ; pantalon de 



MADAME FREDERIC. 207 

drap, six sous; collet, un sou; pair de bas, deux sous. 
And the washerwoman, when she brings you in your 
linen, will, come in her court dress, and counting your 
shirts,she will inquire after your health, and as she retires 
she will have the " honor to salute you." Madame 
Frederic is one of the notabilities of Paris, and no one 
who has a proper respect for clean linen ever speaks to 
her but with his hat in his hand ; she has a reputation 
Europe'enne, but she refuses to wash anything under a 
ministerial shirt — and even that, if it be worn twice. 

And now I will proceed to tell you who this elegant 
woman is, in whom, by this time, you must have taken 
some interest. She is a Parisian by birth and education, 
a married woman, and the greatest coquette, and most 
capricious creature of all Paris ; and yet all Paris — alas, 
more than all Paris, does nothing but run after her. As 
for me, I declare with Cicero, " ?nalle me errare cum 
ilia, quam aliis rede sapere." 

She has a brother, too, as much admired by the ladies 
as she by the gentlemen, and so exquisite in taste and 
dress, that many doubt whether he himself may not be 
of the softer gender. I wish I had time to describe to you 
his wardrobe also. His petite redingotte of blue, and 
his white pants in contrast with his black vest and azure 
cravat for the morning promenade ; his graceful Polo- 
naise trowsers black, and vest white, for the field sports, 
and his . 

But he is a proud and insolent fellow, and I hate 



him because he always has an eye upon his sister, and 
unless you damn yourself altogether in expenses for new 
coats, he won't speak to you. In fine, to keep you no 

longer in suspense about this elegant couple they 

are called " The Fashions." Enough of parables ; to- 
morrow I will treat you to matters of fact. 



208 FETE DE LONGCHAMPS. 

To-morrow, May 8th. 

This old fool Paris has turned out again upon the 
Boulevards, three days of this week, as thick as a Mardi 
Gras; it is called the fete de Longchamps, and the ob- 
ject is to determine the fashions for the coming season. 
The most important decision of this year seems to be 
the entire suppression of " gigot sleeves." Only think ; 
they were last year as wide as the British Channel, and 
now they are to be all at once razeed to the quick. The 
public, however, does not submit quietly to the curtail- 
ment. Nothing else, indeed, than mutton sleeves and the 
President's message is thought fit for conversation, or 
discussion in the newspapers, since a month. It is found 
to be exceedingly difficult to legislate for the head and 
shoulders, and lower parts at the same time ; what is a 
benefit to one section being a prejudice to the other. 
The waist especially is indignant ; it has been straight- 
ened enough and squeezed enough in all conscience ever 
since it was first invented. It has remonstrated ; and 
petition after petition has been sent in, signed by all the 
neighboring states threatening to nullify the union, un- 
less these restrictions are taken off. However, by re- 
lieving a little the flatness and nakedness of the arm 
with a row or two of point d\flngleterre, it is supposed 
a compromise may be effected. Indeed I have already 
seen several pairs of these sleeves venturing abroad, and 
two yesterday amidst the bravas of the Tuileries. But 
what a figure is a woman, shrunk into those narrow 
circumstances above, and so prominent beneath, she 
seems scarcely of the same species. She is Horace's 
mulier formosa superne" reversed. 

Another decree of the Longchamps is to lengthen the. 
frock still more at the tail ; though longer already than 
cleanliness or mercy to many a reluctant pair of ankles 



CONVENT OF LONGCHAMPS. 209 

should have permitted. Ankles are said to be very beau- 
tiful in Paris, and they resisted with all their might this 
innovation the last season ; they had enjoyed the privi- 
lege of being seen for years, and it was natural they 
should take some steps to maintain it ; but what did it 
avail ? In this you see only another signal example 
of the despotism of Fashion. Not two years ago a 
frock was circumcised mid-leg— no one, indeed, looked 
at a lady's legs, as a matter of curiosity, much below 
the knee — and now, unless in a whirlwind or a stepping 
into a coach, not a " peeping ankle" is to be seen upon 
the whole pave of Paris. Alas, all you can see now-a- 
days is 

" The feet that from each petticoat 
Like little mice creep in and out." 

Formerly the cause of going to Longchamps was to 
say mass ; now it is a mutton-sleeve. This Longchamps 
was once a convent, and was founded by St. Louis's 
sister, Isabelle de France, who, after her death, performed 
in this place (a pretty good number for a woman), forty 
miracles. The place, therefore, became very celebrated ; 
pilgrims visited it by thousands, and the sick were car- 
ried there to be cured, and princesses shut themselves 
up in it from the temptations of the world. But these 
nuns were very pretty, and the rakes of Paris went thi- 
ther on pilgrimage also ; amongst the rest went Henry 
the Fourth to court Mademoiselle Catherine de Verdun. 

In the course of time every one heard spoken of cer- 
tain holy concerts that were given there on Wednesdays, 
Thursdays and Fridays of the Holy week, (the days 
now celebrated ;) on which occasions the church was 
illuminated, embalmed with incense, and the little nuns 
sang so sweetly, that many pious people thought their 

18* 



210 FETE DE LONGCHAMPS. 

songs not of this earth, but hymns that came directly 
from the celestial choirs ; and the crowd that frequented 
Longchamps was immense. 

Not the inhabitants of Paris only came, but of London 
and other foreign cities, striving to rival each other in 
the richness of their dresses, and the magnificence of 
their equipages. Their emulation went so far at last 
that the very wheels of their chariots were often gilt, and 
the shoes of the horses of the precious metals ; and the 
coachmen and footmen more gold than gold (x^vea 
x£v60T?s£a). But again libertinism broke into the sacred 
cloisters, and the concerts were suppressed ; finally, the 
Revolution came and the convent was demolished ; not 
a stone was left to testify the miracles of Isabelle de 
France. But the multitude still continues its annual 
pilgrimages to Longchamps. 

In the present fetes there is scarcely anything which 
recals the sumptuousness of ancient times. Coaches 
indeed are varnished, stirrups are burnished, and lac- 
queys have a new livery ; and here and there an English 
lord, or an American colonel blazes out with chariots, 
postillions, and mounted gens-d'armes. The French 
aristocracy has been so unvarnished by the Revolution, 
that twenty thousand a year has got a chance of being 
exceedingly magnificent. 

• The procession is an uninterrupted train of vehicles 
of all sorts in motion the whole length of the Boule- 
vards ; and up through the Champs Eiysees to the Bois # 
de Boulogne, a distance of about four miles, and having 
arrived at a certain spot, the cavalcade wheels about 
and returns in the same manner ; the one side of the 
way being used for going and the other for coming. 
The chief concern of the day is the exhibitions of pretty 
women in open barouches, clad in the splendors and 



A FRENCH MODISTE. 211 

novelties of the season. Mounted beaux, too, on steeds 
richly caparisoned, are exceedingly in favor. 

The decrees of Longchamps, like Csssar's, go forth 
upon the whole earth ; and it is the only tribunal that 
can claim upon the earth this extensive jurisdiction. A 
revolution has passed like a hurricane over its very 
throne, and left its authority undisturbed ; and there is 
no reason to believe that this supreme and universal 
power will pass away ever. Causes and effects both 
co-operate to perpetuate its existence. In other coun- 
tries men and women follow fashion and have conse- 
quently little exercise of taste or invention ; but the 
Parisians are by general consent inventors ; they are 
gay, vain and ostentatious", and from the nature of their 
commerce, and from the number of strangers, who will 
be induced to reside amongst them, they will give always 
to dress and fashion an importance they can have no- 
where else. Let us then recognize our legitimate sove- 
reigns, and bow graciously to their natural and indis- 
putable authority. Let us recognize, too, the wisdom 
of Providence, which, by giving a diversity of products 
to the earth, and of capacities to the civilized nations, 
who inhabit it, has bound them by ties of mutual ne- 
cessities, to live together in peace and harmony. The 
savages of our country, who have no such ties, who 
have but the same pursuits and capacities, have also but 
one passion, the destruction of each other. 

To compare the American and French modiste is to 
compare the mere manual operation to the imaginative 
and intelligent exercise of the mind. A French bonnet- 
maker is not made, she is born ; she meditates, she in- 
vents, she conceives a hat — as much as Pindar did a 
lyric poem. And when she has made you a hat, your 
only wonder is, whether the hat was made for you, or 



212 AN AMERICAN MODISTE. 

you were made for the hat. Why, in Philadelphia a hat 
may be worn by two faces ; here it is a constituent part 
of the woman it was invented for, and they cannot be 
separated from each other without injury to both. Do 
you believe that Madame Palmy re ever makes two 
frocks alike ? it would be the ruin of the woman's repu- 
tation. What kind of feelings must a lady have, coming 
into an assembly and finding another woman's frock 
having the same physiognomy as her own ! I have 
seen more than one in a fit of hysterics from this very 
occurrence. And do you believe that Simon' *s chapeaux 
are formed upon the cold precepts of the schools, or Her- 
bault's bibis ? Do you think that Michael's shoes, or 
those exquisite bottines of Gelot, or those kid gloves of 
Boivin are produced without enthusiasm ? or Batton's 
flowers, or Cartier's plumes, without inspiration? 

A modiste in America indeed ! — why the same wo- 
man cuts out a frock and makes it ! The same woman 
who does the head-work of a bonnet, does the stitching! 
In France there is an adaptation of labor to the abilities 
of the artist; and a modiste en chef no more thinks of 
the manipulation of a frock, than Scribe of a vaudeville, 
or Careme of a dinner. Nor does she suffer her genius 
to be dissipated and wasted upon varieties even the 
most important. Each branch has its professor, whose 
whole mind is concentrated upon this one object. Even 
the invention has its specialities. One adapts colors to 
complexions, and another studies the proportions of the 
human form, and its shapes, and the congruity of dresses 
with its various sizes ; how to bring out an attraction 
more seductive by the sacrifice of one less potent ; where 
to enhance a beauty by a defect ; and how to discover a 
charm under pretext of concealing it ; one is a kind of a 
Minister of the Interior, another of Foreign Affairs. In 



PARISIAN FASHIONS. 213 

the manual operations, too, the same series is observed. 
One folds, another crimples, one bastes, another rips ; 
one spends her days in " undoing," another in "trying- 
on," another again grows old in puckering, and so in 
crisping, pranking, curling, and flouncing — all have their 
several functions, and all their tasks assorted to their 
several abilities. 

At the fete of the Longchamps the eye is dazzled by 
the splendor, and the attention is distracted by the variety. 
A fashion to have vogue must present itself in a more 
"questionable shape." A pretty woman is therefore 
selected, who for a season may personate the many- 
colored goddess ; she is called, during her reign, the Most 
Fashionable" — not, indeed, as the king is called the 
"Most Christian," for truly, she is the most fashionable 
— " la plus a la mode de Paris." 

The Parisians have a way of getting this fashionable 
woman up, pretty much as we get up a great man in 
the United States. A few of the leaders of fashion, young 
gentlemen in their first down, having made choice of a 
fit person, first direct upon her all the rays of their ad- 
miration. She is not required to be a duchess, or to 
have any more beauty or accomplishment than her 
neighbors, but she had better be the wife of a rich 
banker. If she rides out of an afternoon to the Bois de 
Boulogne, then will a dozen of these elegantes and 
fashionables gather around her barouche ; and hats in 
hand they will canter along side ; they will be unable to 
contain their admiration, and they will set the multitude 
agape. Thus in a crowd one stares at the heavens, 
and another, till at last the world is in a gaze ; and as all 
see different wonders in the skies, one a whale, another a 
weasel, and many phantasms and idle visions, so in the 
heaven of this lady's face, beauties are now struck out 



214 REIGN of beauty; 

that had remained, but for this general regard, forever 
undiscovered; beauties which herself, if possible, had 
never seen. 

— '■ "As learned critics view 



In Homer beauties Homer never knew." 

The same gallants pursue her to the Opera, and there 
gather into her box with noise and bustle and assidui- 
ties, till they have drawn the whole house upon her, and 
every glass is pointed ; as in the chase, where the hare 
stands at bay, and the hunters have but a single aim ; 
only that here the danger is reversed. So at the concert, 
and so at the ball, where she is engaged for twenty sets 
ahead, before half up the stairs, so everywhere the same 
ardor, the same empressement , the same adoration. She 
is gazetted, too, in the newspapers, and all her particu- 
lars, jetty hair, inky eyebrows, turn-up nose, pregnant 
lips : everything circumstantially described. Every one 
knows her, every one loves her, and every one not 
wishing to pass for a clown, without taste, swears she 
is adorable. She is in every one's mouth, she is in every 

one's heart, she is in a word she is la femme la 

plus a la mode de Paris. 

Thus our fashionable lady is turned about in the 
vortex of dissipation till spring, and enjoys a flood of 
frothy adulation beyond the lot of. all other monarchs. 
The spring arrives, and then the summer, and being 
fashionable she leaves of course during the warm 
months for the waterings, or her castle in a distant 
province, and returns in the autumn: and in the au- 
tumn she finds another " Fashionable Lady" in her 
place. It is scarce to be expected that such violent ad- 
miration should be bestowed on the same person for 
more than a season. She now abdicates and sinks into 



ITS TERMINATION. RETURN OF SPRING. 215 

obscurity, or which is more common, being unable to 
endure the reverse of fortune, dies of mortification and 
spite. 

I send you this by Mr. C , of Philadelphia, with 

a single sheet of music, a delightful air from the Puri- 
tani— an air which is graven upon ten thousand hearts. 
Oh, if you had heard Rubini sing it over the coffin of 
Bellini at the Invalids. The sexton wept. It stole 
upon the ear as if from the spheres — mournful as the 
wood-pigeon's moan : 

" Soft as the mother's lullaby, 



When babies sleep." 

Learn to sing it in your most plaintive voice. I will 
love you the more for recalling one of the tenderest 
scenes of my absence. Good night. 



LETTER XXIII. 

Return of spring — A new Venus — The Artesian well — Montmartre 
— Donjon of Vincennes — St. Ouen — St. Germain — The Pretender 
— Machine de Marli — Versailles — The water-works — The Swiss 
garden— Trianon — Races at Chantilly — Stables of the Great Conde 
■ — Lodgings in a French village — A domestic occurrence — The 
boots — The alarm — The bugs — Extract from Pepys — Delights of 
Chantilly — Unlucky days — Solitude in a crowd — The cure — The 
king's birthday — The concert — The fire-works — The illuminations 
— The buffoons — Punch — The eating department — The Mat de 
Cocagne. 

Paris, May 6th, 1836. 
Your letter of March the 25th has arrived. I am 
orry to hear the north wind has given himself such 



216 A NEW VENUS. 

airs. Here he has been quite reasonable. The lilacs 
of the Luxembourg are again in their pride. The gar- 
dener is stirring up the loose earth, while May recalls 
the roses with refreshing showers. How delightful to 
see the spring thus repairing the desolations of winter ! 
Your trees of Pine Hill, which persevere in being green 
the year round, do not please so much as those which 
strip off in November, and put on their green and flow- 
ery robes in April. Pines are called rightly, the dress 
of winter, and the mourning of summer. 

What has immutability to do with this earth ? where 
one tires even with a uniformity of excellence. If I 
were to make, like Ovid, a golden age, I would say not 
a word of Eternal Springs. How delightful is this 
morning. The sun has just poured out its first rays 
upon the dews, and every lilac has a pearl in its ear. 
They are setting out, in the Palais Royal, a new Venus 
of the whitest marble. Look at the jade, in the south- 
east corner, in her impudent attitude ; she is stooping, 
and ungartering a snake from her leg. Pretty, to be 
sure, if one had a taste for a hieroglyphic woman ; as 
for me I like the little thing in its natural attributes of 
flesh and blood, in its straight nose ; lips double-dyed ; 
and overlooking the humid eye of gray, or dark, or blue, 
and the « darling little foot." 

They are also setting out chairs for the summer, and 
the gallery of Orleans already weeps its empty halls. 
These chairs are let at two sous the sitting, and bring 
money to the private purse of our " citizen king." 
The " right of location" is 32,000 francs, and the lessee 
gets rich by the bargain. This sitting out upon chairs 
is an ancient custom; it is the way Frenchwomen take 
a walk. I have read in Scarron some verses in allusion 
to it. 



THE ARTESIAN WELL. 217 

Tous les jours une chaise 

Me coute un ecu, 
Pour porter a l'aise 

Votre chien de, &c. &c. 

A poetic husband is out of humor with his wife, 
whose sedentary habits have become a serious item in 
the household expenses. 

As I am about to leave Paris I have taken several 
flights to the country, to satisfy what yet remains of 
unsatiated curiosity ; to Fontainbleau, where I walked 
upon the footsteps of the Belle Gabrielle, and stood upon 
the spot where the thunder of retributive justice fell 
upon the head of Napoleon. I stood this morning at 
nine by the Barrilre des Martyrs, accompanied by Mr. 

, of Philadelphia. We went to see an Artesian well 

they are boring there towards the centre of the earth, and 
through which we are to have a short passage to the 
Indies, and to get a peep of the sun at midnight. It is 
already nine hundred feet ; Che temperature increasing ; 
and they are going to make mother Earth keep us in 
hot water. She is to heat our baths, warm our houses, 
make the tea, and spoil your trade in Anthracite coal ; so 
says Mr. Arago, secretary of the Institute, member of 
the Deputies, &c. But I have little taste for wells, ex- 
cept in very hot weather— unless it be those 

" delicate wells 



Which a sweet smile forms in a lovely cheek." 

These are agreeable in all weathers. 

We breakfasted in coming along on the heights of 
Montmartre, where we surveyed the great village, and 
stood on a level with its steeples. This was Henry the 
Fourth's camp at his taking of Paris; and lately of the 
English on a similar errand. Here were a great many 

VOL. II.- — 19 



218 ST. OUEN. 

John Bullish looking children with jovial rubicund faces 
running about the hill. They have profited, the little 
rogues, by the gallantry of their mothers. The French 
children of the poorer classes have generally a sallow 
and unhealthy look. 

Next we walked around the " Donjon of Vincennes," 
its ditches and its towers. It has great titles stuck on its 
scutcheon. It has imprisoned the great Conde, Retz, 
Fouquet, Vendome, and Conti; also in later times, 
Diderot and Mirabeau : and it contains in its chapel the 
remains of the Due d'Enghein, who was shot here. It 
was formerly the residence of kings. Philip Augustus 
lived here, and St. Louis, and Francis I. and Henry IV., 
and Blanche of Castile, and Agnes, called the " Lady of 
Beauty." Charles IX. died here, and Mazarin, and that 
wicked creature Isabelle de Baviere. I visited this vil- 
lage last summer in fete time and had a dance in the 
Rotonde de Mars, and excellent music in the Grand f 
salon des Chorybantes. 

On this excursion we strolled also into the village of 
St. Ouen, four and a half miles from Paris. Here is a 
royal chateau, where Louis XVIII. reposed the second 
of May, 1814, before his solemn entrance into the city. 
It is a delightful situation, overlooking the Seine ; and 
the old kings, as far back as Dagobert, had a palace here, 
which Louis XL gave to the monks of St. Den is^ "./?/? ra, 
qu'ils priassent Dieu pour la conservation de sa per- 
sonne ." The Pavilion of Queen Blanche is yet remain- 
ing. On the site of the old palace is the elegant mansion 
of M. Terneaux, whose predecessors were M. and 
Madame Necker. One of the curiosities of the place is 
the cradle which rocked Madame de Stael. M. Ter- 
neaux is a member of the Deputies ; he makes laws 
and Cashmere shawls— the shawls equal in tissue and 



MONTMORENCY. 219 

beauty to those of "Indus and the Orme." Every- 
body comes hither to see his Thibet goats andmerinoes, 
and his silos, which are immense excavations in which 
grain is preserved fresh many years. 

We now went two leagues and a half further to St. 
Germain, and walked upon its elegant terrace. The 
Pretender is buried here, and several of the little Pre- 
tenders ; and in going along we looked at the Machine 
de Mar li 9 which desires to be remembered to the Falls 
of Niagara. The water is climbing up an immense 
hill by dribbles to supply the little squirting Cupids at 
Versailles. 

St. Germain was once the seat of the pleasures and 
magnificence of the Grand Monarch. He left it, because 
St. Denis, standing upon a high eastern eminence, over- 
topped his palace, a memento mori amidst the royal 
cups. Kings do not choose that these tell-tales of mor- 
tality shall look in at their windows. 

We then walked in the chestnut groves and deep 
solitudes of Montmorency till we grew sentimental ; till 
we could almost hear Heloise wail her unhappy lover. 
We saw a tree that had fallen to the earth, and the vine 
which had entwined it in its prosperity still clinging to it 
in its fall ; it had refused to climb any other tree, but 
died with the trunk that had supported it. We thought 
of the perfidy and ingratitude of men, and we had serious 
thoughts of quitting their society and living altogether 
among trees. We visited the Hermitage and plucked 
each a leaf from the rose-bush, and we sat upon Jean 
Jacques' chair. We intended to visit Meudon, on our 
return, to laugh at Rabelais, and to fly to the rocks of 
Vitry to kiss the footsteps of Madame de Sevigne, but 
did not. I have now given you my journey of a day. 

I announced to you pompously by the last boat my 



220 VERSAILLES. 

departure for London, and you will be surprised to re- 
ceive yet a letter from Paris. I stayed chiefly to see 
the waters "play" at Versailles. It is an amazing spec- 
tacle, and everybody stays to see it. You must imagine 
a hundred little Cupids squirting away with all their 
might, and Diana, Amphitrite and several other grown- 
up goddesses doing the same; and Apollo's horses 
which breathe the surge from their nostrils, and Neptune 
astride of the whale, which vomits the ocean from its 
gills; with jets d'eaux innumerable, spouting water, with 
fantastic figures along the main walks and vistas of the 
garden. 

For the grand scene of all you must imagine a wide 
avenue the fourth of a mile, and a row of watery trees 
at each side, and at the closed end a circular lake, with 
a liquid pillar rising from the centre, and several con- 
centric circles jetting around at different heights, and 
scattering the drizzly vapor, which makes rainbows as 
it descends. If you have imagined all this, with a tem- 
ple, and Thetis and her nymphs seated in it, and plenty 
of cascades, water-spouts, and cataracts pouring down 
upon them — this is the " Play of the waters at Ver- 
sailles/*' 

The multitude of the spectators was like a forest of 
the Mahonoy. The women were as thick as Catullus' 
kisses. With one of them, whom I knew, I walked a 
while, in the " Swiss Garden," with its air of gentility 
and modesty. Here the royal family used to abdicate 
their greatness and play one week of the year a pea- 
sant's life ; and the royal girls romped about the garden 
in their lindsey frocks and check aprons, and frowsy pet- 
ticoats, and had bonny-clabber for supper. Louis XVI. 
was a miller, and Maria Antoinette was a dear little 
dairy-maid ; but 



TRIANON. 221 

" More water glides by the mill 
Than wots the miller of." 

The mill and the dairy and the cottages and other monu- 
ments of these royal Saturnalia, are yet remaining. 
These were anciently the pastimes of monarchs, who 
had thirty millions of subjects; and they complain that 
the judgments of Heaven have overtaken them ! 

In strolling along a silent path through the woods, we 
came unexpectedly into a little retreat, which so lurked 
in a corner, that after a week's stay here I had not ob- 
served it. They call it the Ball-room. It is a circle 
having an orchestra in the centre and an area for danc- 
ing between it and the circumference ; and here are two 
rows of columns of colored marble, united by thirty 
arches, beneath each one of which, on the night of cere- 
mony, is a jet d'eau falling in Jleur de lis, and seeming 
to sustain lighted lustres, which are suspended by an in- 
visible thread from the arches. It is enclosed by a hedge, 
and overshaded by branches from the surrounding trees. 
It seems as if made for some king of the elfs, or fairy 
queen to play her midnight gambols in. 

The great palace of Versailles is a long squat edifice 
which inspires no great reverence. It has one magnifi- 
cent room, two hundred feet, by thirty, now converted 
into a National Museum of pictures. There are two 
smaller palaces at half a mile distance, graceful and 
elegant, called the great and little Trianon. — With the 
latter is connected an English garden in all the pretty 
disorder of nature, and in open contrast with the garden 
in general, which is tricked out in all the embellishments 
of art. 

Nature has furnished the raw materials, and of a good 
quality ; but a tree here is scarcely more like a tree in 

19* 



222 RACES AT CHANTILLY. 

its natural shapes than a pate de foie gras is like a goose. 
The sums expended upon this royal residence are reck- 
oned at near forty millions sterling. The population 
of the town is twenty-eight thousand. 1 remained here 
a week last August, and then wrote you a detailed ac- 
count of the garden and its palaces ; Maria Antoinette's 
room, Josephine's room, and all the rooms, and the pic- 
tures and the beautiful cathedral ; and though I may 
presume from your silence this letter is lost, like so many 
others, I have no mind to return to the subject. 

Jl-propos. I sent you more than three months ago, 
written by an amiable Parisienne," the Literary Ladies 
of Paris;" I hope they are not miscarried. I am tired 
of consuming whole days for Louis Philippe's post- 
office establishment. 

With great expectation of pleasure I went to the Races 
at Chantilly, which are among the events of this week. 
This town is at ten leagues distance, and has an elegant 
view over the Seine, and a fine turf, which was trodden 
on this occasion by the prettiest little feet that ever went 
to Chantilly. And here were the full-blooded coursers, 
which champed the bit and pawed the earth, and de- 
voured the road and made gallant show and promise of 
their mettle. What a pity you had not been there! You 
would have seen Miss Annette outstrip Volante ;•' you 
would have been glad the one gained and the other lost, 
without caring a pin for either, and you would have paid 
for a mutton chop the price of the whole sheep, and as 
for a bed, you would have got none either for love or 
money. 

A little slice of hard fare is not without its advantages 
to pampered citizens ; it works off the bad humors 
engendered by an idle life ; and fits of poverty now and 
then in the country are grateful and genteel recreations 



ROYAL PALACES. 223 

of the rich, and have been praised by the poets.— You 
would have dreamed of slumbering by the waving pines, 
and soft murmurs of your little Schuylkills, and then of 
wandering alone in a foreign land, and then sitting the 
livelong night upon a chair in the stables of the Great 
Conde ; of having jockeys and grooms for your chamber- 
maids, and race-horses for your bed curtains. — These 
stables, if you please, cost thirty millions, and it is an old 
saying in France, " que les chevaax du Prince du Conde' 
sont mieux loges que les rois d'rfngleterre." Famous 
knights used to mount here in full panoply to carry ter- 
rors beyond the Duro and the Rhine. Alas, that stables 
should be sometimes the only memorials of one's earthly 
possessions. The castle of the Great Prince is demol- 
ished ; the " magnifique rnaison de Plaisance" which 
opened its folding doors to a thousand guests of a night, 
is now with the house of Priam, and the grass has grown 
upon its altars : 

« Where one seeks for Ilion's walls, 



The quiet sheep feeds, and the tortoise crawls." 

Indeed, castles in general, in France, may be written in 
the catalogue of its ruins. The French nobles and 
princes are no longer great feudal barons or idlers. The 
aristocracy of now-a-days has to attend to business — to 
the Chamber of Peers and Deputies, and to go to mar- 
ket. Even the retreats of monarchy are moss-grown 
with neglect. The nation murmurs at the expense, and 
lets its ruins go to wreck for want of repair. The num- 
ber of royal palaces are a dozen, and their annual ex- 
pense of keeping, 160,000 dollars. Fontainbleau is 
content with a yearly visit ; and the magnificent Ver- 
sailles has become a national museum. I looked all 
about here for the eloquent Bossuet, but he, too, is so 



224 LODGINGS IN A FKENCH VILLAGE. 

broken up, you scarce find the fragments. His magni- 
ficent gardens, jets d'eaux, and chestnut groves are the 
commons of Chantilly, and 

" Thriving plants, ignoble broomsticks made, 
Now sweep the alleys they were born to shade." 

Paris and the neighboring country poured out upon the 
plains of Chantilly, this day, such multitudes as never 
went to Troy. To obtain a vehicle to return was impos- 
sible ; and to stay another night at Chantilly was impos- 
sible also ; but I had to set my foot upon this latter 

impossibility. I was so lucky as to meet Mr. , of 

New York, and by a long search together, we found 
lodgings for the night ; and what we little thought of 
finding in a French village, a fat landlady ; but so fat, 
she is silently taking leave of her knees ; before this 
reaches you she will have seen them, perhaps, for the 
last time ; and her husband, still more ill favored, sat by, 
his lower lip hanging towards the waistband of his 
breeches. At the lady's feet was a chubby baby, nearly 
naked, and resembling an unfeathered owl. My com- 
panion, a man of address, nursed this brat, and called it 
tender names to please the mother. One grows so polite 
in this country ; besides what does not one do for 
a lodging at Chantilly ? Also in the back-ground was a 
female, acting in the double capacity of chambermaid 
and bonne, who had her share in the general effect. 
She had been frightened, when young, till her eyes had 
started out of her head, and had stayed there, staring ever 
since ; and her lips being too short for. her teeth, gave 
her a look of affability without the trouble of smiling. 
To complete the interest of her physiognomy she had 
a long beaky nose with the tip red. She was so ugly 
the child would not cry after her. These were the pro- 



A DOMESTIC OCCURRENCE. 225 

tections which it pleased Providence to put around our 
honesty at the races of Chantilly. 

I describe this family only to introduce with more 
interest a domestic occurrence, which, to relieve a little 
the serious details of this letter, I am going to relate. — 
Night already held its middle course in the heavens, 
and a lady, our fellow-lodger, tired of waiting the 
untimely hours of her husband, had retired for the 
evening to her chamber ; and there being relieved from 
the apparel of the day, she took a look under the bed ; 
a prudent caution, which she always observes, and 
which, she says, her mother had observed before her — 
and what do you think she discovered under the bed ? 
The legs of a man ! She fled, and forgetting the naked- 
ness of her condition, rushed into the hall, where we, 
in the midst of the family circle, sat over a mug of French 
beer, with long pipes, smoking and watching the curling 
smoke as it ascended gracefully towards the ceiling. 
In the precipitation of her flight she fell over a stool, at 
full length upon the floor — exhibiting the incomprehen- 
sible mechanism of the human figure in all its branches. 
It fell to my lot, being nearest, to bring her to, which I 
did, wrapping her in a cloak, placing her on a couch, 
and encouraging her to speak. As soon as she had 
explained, the alarm became general ; pipes were ex- 
tinguished, and candles lighted ; we proceeded into the 
suspicious bed-chamber; the bonne, with her eyes 
farther out, smiling nevertheless, and the fat madam, and 
her husband walking on his lip ; one carried the poker, 
one the boot-jack, and one the flat iron, and we moved 
on in close file to the bed-side ; and here we made a 
halt. I felt (I will confess it) my respiration stop ; I 
stood in the van, being unwillingly placed there by the 
pride of sustaining American bravery in a foreign coun- 



226 THE BOOTS. DELIGHTS OF CHANTILLY. 

try. I thought of my little children, and then moved 
aside the curtain, respectfully. You have, perhaps, 
seen a man kill a rattlesnake with a short stick. — And 
after all, what do you think it was ? A pair of boots — 
the lady's husband having gone out in his shoes. 

We retired now to our chambers, where Dr. B. and I 
were eaten up by bugs ; and there was a Frenchman in 
the adjoining room who passed also a melancholy night; 
we presumed from the same cause. So you see that 
not Americans alone are subject to these unsavory 
afflictions — non soli dant sanguine pcenas. Get thee 
to Chantilly, Mrs. Butler. Indeed, I have learned from 
inquiry and personal experience, too, that this kind of 
vermin and some others, creep higher into good society 
here, than in the United States. 

Our better houses, I mean, which keep servants, and 
pique themselves on their gentility, do not suffer such 
inmates. It is true that the poorer sort of folks, and 
even the better sort of country taverns, do not care a 
straw for all the bugs of Christendom. They look upon 
them as the natural bleeders, provided for the poor, 
providentially, and a saving of expense, in cupping, 
leeching, and other kinds of phlebotomy. 

But these English people, when did they all at once 
become so clean, that they should turn up their noses 
so fastidiously at others ? Why, in Queen Elizabeth's 
time, in Shakspeare's time, in my Lord Bacon's time, 
in my Lord Coke's time, courtiers used to offend the very 
nose of Majesty by coming with dirty feet into the pre- 
sence. Oh, here is a quotation a-propos, in Pepys' Jour- 
nal, which I have just been reading. " February 12th ; 
up, finding the beds good, but lousy" Now, this is in 
London, and this Pepys, who found the beds so " good," 
was secretary of the admiralty, only one hundred and 
fifty years ago. Besides, our judges, I guess, don't carry 



UNLUCKY DAYS. 227 

posies in their button holes (though, indeed, it is 

not because they have not frequent need of them.) 

These are the delights of Chantilly. If any one 
should go there twice, he must be a much greater fool 
than I am, which I deem impossible. Yet here was 
the whole habitable earth ; all the peasantry with its 
baked faces, and caps like your winnowed snows, and 
all the trim rabble of the towns, the beau monde of 
the Halles, and all that is richest in beauty, education, 
and blood, too, was here — not forgetting my Lord 

S , who keeps horses for the turf, and liveries for 

Longchamps ; nor him so enviable for his skin and 
bones, so recommendable by his thinness, and who 
makes himself lighter on a pinch, by holding his breath, 
who rode Miss Annette, though Volante came up like 
a storm from the south, victoriously to the stake — Mr. 
Robinson. Now all these were at the races, and the 
newspapers have done nothing else for a week than 
describe their inexpressible enjoyments. 

The truth is, I set out upon this excursion on one 
of my unlucky days. I have read of a giant some- 
where, who one day swallowed down windmills without 
choking, and who was suffocated by a piece of fresh 
butter the next. Unlucky days are an old woman's 
superstition. But there is scarce a wise man, who does 
not tell you of some of his days that were nothing but a 
series of mishaps. 

In* the same manner, good fortune appears to attend 
some persons in all their enterprises, while others again 
seem marked for special persecution; adversity keeps 
barking at their heels through the whole course of their 
lives. 

My grandmother, who brought me up, besides being 
a Presbyterian, was a Scotchwoman; she believed she 



228 SOLITUDE IN PARIS. 

was compelled to garter up her stockings, and snuff out 
the candle, by predestination ; and it is not so easy a 
matter as you think, to get rid of one's grandmother. 
My silly jaunt to Chantilly occurred on one of these 
days. It was not enough that I should be run against 
by a diligence, and almost irretrievably smashed ; that 
I should be crammed into a stable ; be destroyed by 
bugs, and frightened to death by a pair of boots ; the 
same fortune pursued me at my return home. I hung 
up my watch by a nail, which had sustained it for six 
months ; but it was my unlucky day ; it fell, to its en- 
tire destruction, upon the brick floor. I gathered up 
the fragments, and to close my window curtains, mount- 
ed upon a chair, which tilted ; I fell against an opposite 
table, which also upset, breaking the marble cover into 
several pieces ; and there 1 was with a broken head, 
amidst the ruins. I then crawled into bed, where I re- 
mained the next day with a fever, and sent for the 
doctor. 

Now I will conclude this very abstract doctrine, with 
a sensible advice ; namely, that you never set out to the 
Races, on any such abominable, horse-play excursions of 
pleasure, in a melancholy, or ill-natured mood ; it is the 
sure precursor of ill-luck ; both because you will extract 
evil out of every occurrence, and, in your froward 
temper, you will be continually running into difficulties, 
which in good humor, you would either have escaped, 
or turned to a merry account. 

If you come to Paris without a soul with you, having 
been spoiled a little at home with your domestic affec- 
tions, you will every now and then fall into a fit of 
melancholy, which the doctors will call a "nostalgic;" 
and you will wish the very devil had Paris ; and you 
will detest all French people, whatever be their merits ; 



ADVANTAGES OF SOCIETY. 229 

and to be revenged of them, you will write home to your 
friends, and you will call the men all rogues, and the 
women all something else, and then you will feel a little 
better. I have been in the midst of this wilderness of 
men, as solitary as Robinson Crusoe, in his island. 
And I know of no kind of solitude half so distressful, 
as the aspect of a large city, especially to tender-hearted 
gentlemen, who have been brought up in villages. 

To walk in the midst of multitudes of one's own 
species, without a sign, or a look, or a smile of recog- 
nition, impresses one with a very humiliating sense of 
one's own insignificance : besides, one feels the neces- 
sity of loving somebody, and of being loved. These 
feelings will be exceedingly bitter on your first arrival, 
and your fits of " blue devils" more frequent. My ad- 
vice is, that you seek the distractions of gentlemanly 
amusements. For this, you must make the acquaint- 
ance of some French gentleman, (a French lady is 
much better,) who is well versed in the genteel world, 
and she will lead you into such consolations and mis- 
chiefs, as your unfortunate situation may require. She 
must be sufficiently attached to you to take the trouble 
to instruct you, and you must take the trouble, by your 
amability and assiduities, to win this attachment. How 
much better is this than sitting alone, and killing the 
minutes one by one, in your bachelor's chamber ; it is 
better, though you should gain nothing else from her 
acquaintance than hanging yourself in her garters. 

Depend upon it, nature did not intend the whole of this 
life as a preparation for the next ; else had she not ' 
opened to us so many means of enjoyment of the senses 
here. And, depend upon it, there is a world of delight- 
ful and genteel pleasures in Paris, if one has but the 
address to hunt for them. My special advice is, that 
vol. ii. — 20 



230 king's birth-day. 

you do not seek a cure for home sickness in excesses; 
if in wine, be assured that your spirits will soon pass 
from the vinous to the acetous fermentation; if in 
gambling in Paris, your ruin is accomplished. I repeat, 
there is but one effectual cure, it is the acquaintance of 
an amiable and sensible woman. This was the first 
remedy for solitude prescribed by Him who knew best 
the heart and dispositions of man. Adam, I doubt not, 
while Eve slept yet a rib in his bosom, was afflicted 
often with home sickness ; and I dare say he was never 
troubled with it afterwards. 

Recollect when I speak of women, I claim the right 
of being interpreted on the side of mercy. I speak of 
them with an entire sense of the respect due to the sex; 
as a gentleman should, who does not forget that his 
mother is a woman, his sisters, wife and daughters are 
women. When I recommend woman's society, you 
will please to think of the intercourse of the bee with 
the flowers ; it gathers its honied treasures, where most 
rich and succulent, but meditates no injury to the plant 
by which they are supplied. But I am relapsing into 
morality ; good night. I will fill the rest of this blank 
to morrow. 

May 7th. 
When I was just ready to go to London, what should 
have occurred but the king's birth-day; it fell out 
exactly on the first of May, and I had to stay to see it; 
and I am going now to give you a brief abstract of its 
entertainments, to finish this letter; it is already long, 
but remember, it is the last. At half-past five, P. M., the 
king made a bow, and the queen one of the prettiest 
courtesys imaginable, from a gallery of the Tuileries; 
for we had all assembled there to listen to a concert 
served up, al fresco, in a hail storm. A platform was 



SPLENDID FIREWORKS. 231 

erected in front of the palace, and several hundred 
musicians were mounted on it ; but a wintry rain from 
the northeast, mixed occasionally with snow, poured 
down the whole afternoon ; and it rained, and rained, 
as if Heaven had no ears for music. A howling storm, 
now and then, raved through an adagio of Mozart ; 
and Jove descended on the fiddle strings. 

At the end of each piece there was a pause— not of 
the rain but the music— and then came criticisms on all 
sides—" Oh, that air of Bellini ! said the lady ; and then 
her eyes trotted about the garden. "Exquisite !" said 
her cavalier and took a pinch of snuff. — "Lafond? c'est 
un talent superb. — Inferieur a Beriot ? du tout, du 
tout, il n'y a que Pagga — (Une prise s'il vous plait.) Le 
Message du President est done arrive. What are they 
going to determine ? — Determine ? — To pay. (Dieu, 
quelle jolie femme !) On nefait que payer dans ce pays- 
ci." " As for the concerts of the Conservatory, I find 
them stupid beyond sufferance ;" — the poor musician, in 
the mean time, turning up his eyes towards Heaven, and, 
with supplicating looks imploring mercy from the clouds. 

I did not take off my hat and shout with the rest, 
when his majesty bowed. I was not quite sure whe- 
ther the laws of nations would justify me in making 
a bow, until he has paid the "twenty-five millions." 
However, I said, quietly to myself, vive le roi ! He is, 
sans compliment, the most sensible head of a king that 
is in Europe ; and I wish him, from the good will I bear 
the French nation, to live out his time.— But I did not 
let the paltry sum of " twenty-five millions" interfere 
with the respect I owed her majesty's courtesy. 

They have fireworks always ready-made here for 
such occasions, and keep them by them in a closet. On 
this birth-day they were more sublime and beautiful 



232 SPLENDID ILLUMINATIONS. 

than is common, even in Paris. To look down from 
the terrace of the Tuileries upon the immense crowd 
covered with its umbrellas, moving and whirling about 
in the twilight, all over the place Louis XV, and its en- 
virons, was a fantastic spectacle, and worth seeing. 
Have you ever looked at a million of crabs in vinegar, 
through a microscope ? — We remained, a long time, in 
expectation, and the mud. What a delightful thing a 
public fete is, especially when one is expressly ordered 
to be diverted ten days ahead, by ordinance of the Police. 

Suddenly ten thousand sky-rockets hissed through 
the air, and exploded in constellations of stars, pale, 
pink and vermilion, which dropped down slowly to- 
wards the earth. This was the note of preparation. Then 
went off Mount iEtna, and Vesuvius, and Hecla ; and 
a Niagara of liquid fire poured down in a cataract, 
covering up a little Herculaneum and Pompeii; and 
the whole Pyrotechnie was by degrees unfolded, of Sieur 
Ruggieri, Ingenieur of Paris. 

There were bouquets of all the flowers in the field, 
in their most brilliant and harmonious tints ; and there 
was a fierce encounter of knights in the air, and lions 
ready to spring on you ; and there was the devil on a 
pale horse ; and, all at once, the Cathedral of Notre 
Dame, as large as life, stood blazing before us ; its huge 
pillars, its pulpit, its sacristy, and a little fiery congrega- 
tion, who exploded one after another ; a lady went off; 
and then a gentleman ; and, last of all, the priest went 

out at the altar, and suddenly all was night. The 

atmosphere was sick with saltpetre, and the heavens 

wept tri-colored stars. This was forty million times 

prettier than anything you ever saw in your life. 

In the mean time the illumination blazed out through 
the town. The Madelaine stood in a basin of glimmer- 



CHAMPS ELYSEES. 233 

ing fire, and wore a garland of flaming beads upon her 
brows ; and a belt of gas-lights, like sparkling diamonds, 
encircled the queen of streets, the Rue Rivoli ; it was a 
mile long. The Pantheon too, and the Invalids, and the 
Arch of Neuilly, afar off, poured their ineffectual fires 
upon the thick night ; and all the orchards of the Luxem- 
bourg, the Tuileries, and the Champs Elysees, were 
bending under the load of their golden fruits. How 
jealous the moon and stars would have been, if they 
could have looked out upon the French capital this night. 

If we don't get up such fetes in America, it is not 

because we can't, it is because we don't feel in the 

humor, it is because in fine, it is because we 

don't want to. 

I had intended to pass over the recreations of the 
morning for want of room ; but here is, unfortunately, 
room enough. — 1 generally walk out here, as in Ame- 
rica, alone ; for if one takes a companion one is obliged 
to walk his way ; besides you can't imagine what an 
effort it is to be always agreeable. I like sometimes, in 
a solitary walk, to think you all over ; to stray with you 
by the Mill Creek and Tumbling Run, or to sit down 
on your piny eminence, and overlook the village, and 
enjoy your nonsense, which is enjoyed nowhere else in 
such perfection. In a word, if alone, I can get into a 
reverie ; alone, I can fight duels, rout armies, save ladies 
from ruin, and do things that are impracticable. 

It was only this morning that I fought the battle of 
Waterloo over again, and beat Lord Wellington ; — and 
when I take a companion along, he puts me out. So I 
went out this morning alone. I was in rather an ill- 
humor, and I had resolved not to be pleased, or to laugh 
at anything, much less this buffoonery of ajour defete; 
in this mood I arrived in the Champs Elys6es. 

20* 



234 THE BUFFOONS. 

All the world was flowing in here from all quarters, 
as the little streams into the great ocean ; and the im- 
mense plain was fitted up with scaffoldings for various 
representations, and tents and booths stood in long rows 
for the sale of all sorts of nick-nacks, and cakes, and 
sweetmeats, and refreshments; and here were ail the 
marionettes and funambulaires, the buffoons, the har- 
lequins and scaramouches, the most famous of Paris ; 
and the jugglers 

" Who teach you knacks 
Of eating flax, 
And out of their noses 
Draw ribbons and posies." 

Are men, thought I, intelligent beings ? Is there any 
essential difference between those who dishonor them- 
selves in representing these fooleries, and those who are 
entertained by them ? And here I stepped into a crowd 
of persons, who were listening to a serious individual 
who sat upon a platform ; he held a cat, and discoursed 
thus: " Voila, Messieurs, un animal, qui est digne 
de fixer V attention du public. 11 a les oreilles du chat, 
les pates d'un chat; enfin la queue, le poil, la tete, et 
la corps du chat. Eh Men ! Messieurs, ce n 7 est pas un 
chat. — Qu'est ce done que cet animal? — C'est une 

CHATTE." 

At a few steps farther was another individual, who 
recommended remedies for all diseases ; — " Here is my 
powder, gentlemen, patented by the king ; it cures the 
ear-ache, the tooth-ache and scabby dogs; & six sous, Mes- 
sieurs ! c'est incroyable ! c'est pour Hen! & six sous ! — 
And here, gentlemen, is something worthy to fix the 
attention of the naturalist and man of letters. It is a 
little black powder which results from_ the incineration 



MOUNTEBANKS. 235 

of a little animal, which does not weigh more than 
four ounces, and which lays eggs that weigh fifteen 
pounds. It was with these eggs, gentlemen, that Gene- 
ral Lafayette nourished his army in Egypt during forty 
days ; here it is — c'est incroyablel And now, Mes- 
sieurs et Mesdames, here is my poudre dentifrique 
which is designed to destroy the tartar of the teeth of 
both sexes. Tartar, gentlemen, is the declared enemy 
of both. Everything human is subject to tartar ; from 
the innocent virgin to the venerable matron, all is sub- 
ject to tartar. Napoleon himself, at the head of 150,000 
men of cavalry, was not exempt from tartar. You see 
(here he exhibited a boy whose teeth were in a ( fright- 
ful condition,' being painted black.) You see this boy, 
e simple gamin,' he has the teeth neither more or less 
black than pitch, and his breath — You may come, gen- 
tlemen, and smell for yourselves — Eh Men, Messieurs', 
you take my poudre dentifrique, you just dip your fin- 
ger into water, spring water, well water, no matter what 
water, and you just rub lightly, (here he laid the child 
across his knees, and in the same way as if sawing a log of 
wood, rubbed off the paint, and exhibited him with teeth 
of ivory to the spectators.) Behold, gentlemen, the effect 
of my poudre dentifrique, (and here he sold several 
boxes.) — And now, gentlemen, here is my poudre de- 
mangeatoire, (and he made a sign to approach and 
spoke in a lower voice,) it is to make a lady scratch her- 
self. For example, you are at the Duchess of Berri's 
playing at bouillot, or ScartS, no matter, and as if acci- 
dentally you snuff out the candle ; the servant is out of 
the way, and the flint and the steel mislaid ; you profit 
of the obscurity to pass a little of my powder about the 
arms and ankles of the Duchess, and then she will 



236 ORATIONS OF PUNCH. 

scratch— avec la meme vitesse. Monsieur, gu'ane me- 
canique a /aire des has." 

The oldest hero, I believe, of the modern stage is 
Punch, and I am glad to see that he retains yet his place 
at these public solemnities. His harangues here are not 
always a ludicrous or unmeaning prattle, but often 
critical, satirical, and even treasonable ; and occasion- 
ally, he falls under the reprehension of the police. 
Several Punches have been arrested under the late laws. 
I penetrated an immense crowd, and heard a little 
deputy of the " extreme gauche" just end his harangue 
— — "the greatest king of these times, I don't care who 
is the other one. We have been trying kings one after 
the other, and have never had a tolerable one since 
King Pepin. Idiots we have had enough, God knows; 
we have now our Tarquin, whom we have sent to 
travel for his health in Germany. We have had our 
Nero too, and our Otho and Vitellius as well as our 
Caesar ; the Bon Henri, and he was a great rogue, is 
the only national boast. In fine, gentlemen, we never 
had anything of a king down to Louis Philippe. My 
wife has called three children after him successively ; 
but when they were born, they all turned out to be 
girls. Gentlemen, we have done more for the glory of 
France under this king in five years, than under all the 
kings who preceded him, in all years. We have guil- 
lotined Fieschi, conquered the Bedouins and paved the 
" Rue Neuve des Augustins ; and finally, gentlemen, 
we have paid off the < twenty-five millions' to General 
Jackson, and the sword that was half drawn has been 
thrust back into the scabbard. Gentlemen, when we 
want to gather cocoa-nuts in the West Indies, we throw 
stones at the apes on the trees, at which they, getting 
mad, shower down the nuts in our faces; and this is the 



THE MAT DE COCAGNE. 237 

way the General Americain has got the < twenty-five 
millions.' " He bowed, and retired with acclamations. 
This is enough for the Mountebanks and the Punches, 
and not too much, for even the tragic Muse, dignified as 
she now is in her robe and buskins, took her first lessons 
from the Harlequins. 

In the eating department, in the sucrerie and char- 
cuiterie, there was of couse a display; gimblettes, 
gaufres, ecaudes and croquignolles ; their very names 
give one ideas of eating. Do you know how to sell 
cakes piping hot that were baked eight days ago ? 
The bottom of your basket is to be a vessel with water 
in it, reduced by a secret fire into vapor, which pene- 
trates up through the crevices of your cakes. How 
appetising they look, just smoking from the frying pan ! 
If I should attempt to tell you the tricks of the jugglers, 
I should never be done. The prettiest of these all, are 
the lady rope-dancers of Madame Saqui, whom you 
will see thirty feet in the air, and ten thousand eyes 
upturned in admiration. The clown beneath holds his 
cocked hat to catch any one that may fall. 

The most Athletic and dramatic of all these amuse- 
ments, is the Mat de Cocagne. This is a long pole of 
about eighteen inches diameter at the base, well polished 
and greased from head to foot with soft soap, tallow, 
and other slippery ingredients. To climb up this pole 
to the top is an eminent exploit, which crowns the vic- 
torious adventurer with a rich prize and gains him the 
acclamations of ten thousand spectators. The pre- 
tenders strip off their upper gear altogether, and roll up 
their trowsers mid-thigh, and thus accoutred present 
themselves at the bottom of the mast. 

"The first who attempt the ascent look for no 



238 THE MAT DE COCAGNE. 

honor ; their office is to prepare the way, and put things 
in train for their successors ; they rub off the grease from 
the bottom, the least practicable part of the mast. In 
everything the first steps are the most difficult though 
seldom the most glorious ; and scarcely ever does the 
same person commence an enterprise and reap the 
fruits of its accomplishment. They ascend higher by 
degrees, and the expert climbers now come forth, the 
heroes of the list ; they who have been accustomed to 
gain prizes, whose prowess is known, and whose fame 
is established since many seasons. These do not expend 
their strength in the beginning ; they climb up gently, 
and patiently, and modestly, and repose from time to 
time ; and they carry, as is permitted, a little sack at 
their girdle filled with ashes to neutralize the grease, 
and render it less slippery. 

" All efforts, however, for a long time prove ineffec- 
tual. There seems to be an ultimate point, which no 
one can scan,- the measure and term of human strength; 
and to overreach it, is at last deemed impossible. Now 
and then a pretender essays his awkward limbs, and 
reaching scarce half way even to this point, falls back 
clumsily amidst the hisses and laughter of the specta- 
tors ; so in the world empyrical pretension comes out 
into notoriety for a moment only, to return with ridicule 
and scorn to its original obscurity. 

"Bat the charm is at length broken; a victorious 
climber has transcended the point at which his prede- 
cessors were arrested. Every one now does the same : 
such are men ; they want but a precedent ; as soon as 
it is proved that a thing is possible, it is no longer 
difficult. Our climber continues his success ; further 
and further still ; he is a few feet only from the summit, 
but he is wearied, he relents ; alas, is the prize almost in 



THE MAT DE C0CAGNE. 239 

his grasp to escape from him ! He makes another effort, 
but of no avail He does not, however, lose ground; 
he reposes. In the mean time, exclamations are heard, 
of doubt, of success, of encouragement. 

"After a lapse of two or three minutes, which is itself 
a fatigue, he essays again ; it is in vain. He begins 
even to shrink, he has slipped downwards a few inches, 
and recovers his loss by an obstinate struggle, (ap- 
plauses), but it is a supernatural effort and his last. Soon 
after, a murmur is heard from the crowd, half raillery, 
half compassion, and the poor adventurer slides down, 
mortified and exhausted, upon the earth. So a courtier 
having planned, from his youth, his career of ambition, 
struggles up the ladder, lubrick and precipitous, to the 
top, to the very consummation of his hopes, and then 
falls back into the rubbish from which he has issued ; 
and they who envied his fortune now rejoice in his fall. 
What lessons of philosophy in a greasy pole ! What 
moral reflections in a spectacle so empty to the common 
world ! What wholesome sermons are here upon the 
vanity of human hopes, the disappointments of ambition, 
and the difficulties of success in the slippery path of 
fortune and human greatness ! But the defeat of the 
last adventurer has shown the possibility of success, 
and prepared the way for his successor, who mounts up 
and perches on the summit of the mast, bears off the 
crown, and descends amidst the shouts and applauses of 
the multitude. It is Americus Vespucius who bears 
away from Columbus the recompense of his toils." 

I have placed commas over a few of the preceding 
paragraphs, to tell you they are taken chiefly from a 
French description, much prettier than anything I could 
offer you of my own.— 



240 THE FAREWELL. 

And now, farewell Paris ! thou Pandora's box of all 
good and all evil, farewell ! I ought not to take leave 
without making amende honorable for the ill I have 
said and thought of thy French people in my fretful 
humors. I know some of them I cannot think ill of for 
the life of me. I can scarce hate the knaves and fools 
on their account. Then farewell, Paris ! Thrice I have 
bid thee adieu, and still am lingering at thy threshold. 



THE END 




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